The Hereafter
by BreadedSinner
Summary: A search for missing Templars sends the Champion and her companions outside of Kirkwall, but Hawke is still shaken by the loss of her mother.
1. The Rift

Dragon Age: The Hereafter

Chapter One: The Rift

Blood streamed through the streets of Kirkwall, silent and unseen in the foggy night. It sank into the cracks of stone stairs, seeping through the slits. It snaked along the tiles, flowing between buildings. A ribbon of red ran from Darktown to Lowtown like a rampant river, its movements in accordance with the hands of a mage. Dark flares emanated from the opened cuts in his arms, and pain pressed upon him like hot irons on his back. The pressure blurred his vision as he traversed the darkened maze of the city-state. But as long as the blood flowed, the path was clear. With clouded eyes and shaken nerves, the mage walked a clear path. The blood gave direction. It gave purpose.

The clacks of hurried steps behind him rung in his ears and made his veins pulsate with panic. There were three men and one woman following him. The woman marched alongside the blood mage and the ground quaked around her. She shot the mage a dark and judgmental glare. Wanting to charge ahead but knowing she'd be lost his magic, she gave him a look to let him know he was being watched carefully. He gulped and swiped the sweat from his forehead. He knew that she was leading, that she was in control. He was only making a path for her and her companions. The other three men-another mage, a strange looking elf, and a priest, of all things-were following her, not him.

The blood ritual spread its dripping trail into the ends of Lowtown, where a desolate foundry building overlooked a fogged glass sea.

"I think this is it," said the blood mage as he ran ahead of the group to reach the door first.

"The killer is in that building?" said the woman in armor. Stress tinged her normally steady voice, as though she were trying to keep her footing on a ship being swallowed by a storm. "With my mother?"

"It should be, but... blast it."

"What? What is it?"

The blood mage waved his hands over the door and hissed in annoyance. "I suppose it was too much to hope he would get sloppy in his rush. He sealed the door."

"Then stand back," the woman announced, assuming a combative stance. "I'll break it down."

"No," he cried. "He sealed it with magic. I can undo it, just give me a moment."

"We don't have a...!" The armored woman stopped herself, lips clamped. She steadied herself with a rattling exhale and reduced her voice to a wisp. "Please, just do it quickly."

While the blood mage busied himself with the door, the three men watched their leader. She closed her fists and kept them to her sides. She kept her head down with uneasy breaths sliding through the tiny space between her lips. Her body was stiff and unmoving. In full clad armor, she looked like a statue, yet the twitches of her mouth and eyes made it seem like she would crack and crumble at any moment. The men exchanged tense, uncomfortable glances with one another, until one of them spoke.

"Hawke, please," It was the priest, a man in blinding white armor with gilded lining. He broke away from the other two men and walked next to the her. The blood mage shuddered at his indignant tone; prideful righteousness wrapped in the rolls of his words. "Please don't do this. You must know this is wrong. You're better than this."

"It's already done," the woman replied. She did not look at him, her eyes were fixed on the ground. "You've already made your argument, I've already decided to ignore it. We're already here, Sebastian, he's already completed the ritual."

"But it's not too late. We can still walk away from this and rescue your mother without resorting to blood magic. That templar, Ser Moira..."

"Is in the Gallows, a good two hours trip. We're here right now, and you want me to just walk away?" Hawke's fists began to shake. Uneasy breaths wormed into her words, threading every sentence with her rising panic. "What's wrong with you? Don't you understand? My mother is the prisoner of a killer as we speak. I have no idea what he might be doing to her. I don't like this. I'm not happy to do this. But this is the only way."

"No, it's not. You've always found a way before. You must know, if you deal with this maleficarum, there will be dire consequences. It may very well be your mother that pays the price."

"I'll worry about the ethical ramifications later. When my mother is safe. Gascard," she turned to growl at the blood mage. "Is that seal undone yet?"

"Nearly there," he replied. The dryness of his words made Hawke scowl.

"Damn it. Damn it, damn it..."

"Hawke, I'm begging you," Sebastian persisted, though trembling hands and shaking voice slowly whittled at his proud tone. "You will regret this."

"Enough," inserted the elven man with snowy hair and markings etched along his lanky limbs. His voice was harsh and heavy. "It's as Hawke said, the deed is already done."

"How can you say that, Fenris?" said Sebastian, eyes wide. "How are you not trying to stop her too? You know the evils of blood magic better than anyone. And you," he shot his focus at the apostate, a man with feathered cloak and thin, sullen face. "Is this not what you detest most of other mages, Anders? Is this not what you're trying to combat? How am I the only one trying to make Hawke see reason?"

"It's not a matter of reason," said Anders. "We don't like this anymore than you do, and I don't think Hawke likes it either. But this is... a difficult situation."

"She has made her decision, Sebastian," said Fenris. "I do not trust this is the right measure to take, and I do not trust that man or what he's doing. But I do trust Hawke and that she will deal with it."

"Any moment now," said Gascard with a shrug, to distance himself from the uncomfortable conversation.

Sebastian swallowed and backed away from Hawke to steady his composure and prepare for one last plea. He took Hawke's hands in his own, and it compelled her to look directly at him. He countered her with begging eyes of a shade of blue that burned through the dreary night mist. "I don't want you to do this. Not just because it's wrong, not even because of the consequence, but because... you will get hurt, and I don't want that to happen. Not ever. I care about you. If something were to happen to you, I couldn't... Please, Judith..."

Hawke was silent and still for a moment, the priest's impassioned words and pained expression stilled her quaking anger. She allowed herself to feel that way for a moment before sharpening her gaze and wriggling out of his gentle hold. "Do not 'Judith' me. You don't care about me or my mother."

"Of course I do! I..."

"No, you don't. You only care about being right. Like a good, priestly man should be. Well, I'm sorry I can't be that all the time. Follow every rule just so for every waking hour of my life. We don't live in a world where you can live and judge by such antiquated rules. I've been trying to show you that for a long time, but you don't want to see. If it were Grand Cleric Elthina that he had kidnapped, would you be holding back? Would you want me stopping you from rescuing her?"

The priest flinched, the mention of his mentor clogged his throat. "That, that's not fair, Hawke. We have no reason to trust this man. We saw proof of his foul magic, and you still went along with it, Maker knows why. You even saw the way he treated that poor woman, Alessa. I've never seen you act so irrationally. You know better. This isn't like you at all."

"How dare you look down on me like that, like I'm some foolhardy child. Gascard is the only one who knew anything of the killer. He was, had always been, my best chance at finding him. The guards didn't care, the Templars couldn't be bothered, the only one that tried was ignored and now he's dead. You said yourself this was a worthy cause. Has it stopped being so because it hasn't gone your way? Why don't you just say it, Sebastian? You'd rather risk my mother dying than risk dirtying your hands."

"I never said anything like that."

"You didn't need to." There was a finality in her voice that stilled the night winds and made the earth shake. There was a rumble rooted in her throat like shuddering thunder before the lightning strike. Even Gascard felt the resonance of her anger in the distance, a violent shiver up his spine as he worked. Anders tensed up and Fenris looked away. Sebastian gulped. In that moment, he wished Hawke were the sort to lose her temper more easily; screaming and yelling would have been easier to handle. He had never seen her so angry, and it was for all the wrong reason.s "You disagreed with a lot of what I've done and not once have you had the courage to say it to my face. Make your broad claims and hand-waves as much as you like, it makes no difference. I am doing this. And I will deal with what comes."

"It's open," said Gascard, foundry door flying open before him.

Hawke's ears perked at the creak of the door. She watched the blood mage hurry inside, her two other companions after. She turned to walk away when she snapped back, a stony glare at the priest.

"If you won't help me," she snarled, "now when I really need you, then leave. Run back to the Chantry, throw yourself into Elthina's arms. Never make a hard decision for the rest of your life."

She did not wait for him to react. With the last boiling word steaming off her lips, she headed for the foundry.

His meager, "Please don't leave me," was left unanswered.

Sebastian remained, helpless as he watched his companions follow the blood mage into the decrepit building. He stared into the open door, pondering its unknown horrors, fighting the sudden heaviness in his hands and feet. The night was still, winds halted, bitter cold frosted his trembling lips.

"Let's hope we find more than a sack of bones," he heard Anders say. His words were followed by the disapproving growl of Fenris.

"My spell indicates Alessa is here somewhere," said Gascard, distance muffling his voice. "We're in the right place."

"More blood," said Hawke, her voice crumbling bit by bit. "They're in here, somewhere."

Their rushed footsteps traveled further away from him, until all he could hear were faint walks and whispers in the night. He swallowed hard. His thick brow furrowed and protruding nose crinkled against the cold grip of falling night.

His friends had wandered into a killer's den, and he watched them do it. They chose to follow the guidance of a blood mage over his own. If a priest could not sway people to walk from such clear danger, how could he ever hope to do the Maker's work? Yet there was also injustice in this lair. An innocent woman in the clutches of a dangerous killer. Worse yet, it was Hawke's mother; a woman he knew, a woman he saw in the Chantry often. A woman who did not deserve such cruelty. No woman deserved this. It was a trail of vial magic that led them here, but would abandoning the trail and leaving Leandra's fate to chance be any less cruel? Would being right give him any comfort if something happened to Hawke?

Sebastian clasped his hands together and muttered the Chant under his breath. He shut his eyes tight, sealed off his sense from the rest of the world. He flipped through pages of memory and traced along the words he searched for. The verse passed through him as easily as breathing.

"Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light, and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost."

When his senses returned and he found himself back into the harsh world of the living, he drew new breath and huffed up his chest. "I have to do this," he said sternly to himself. "For her." He pooled his strength into one heel and pressed it against the ground. He curled his foot until his toes hit and he reached a step towards the entrance. Then he did it again and again until one foot was in the opening, then the other. He soon gathered enough momentum and was through the door.

Inside the old building he found no one. Just rattling wooden paneling, crusted metal rails, and a dust-ridden floor. His heart thumped with a force that shook his whole body.

"Looks like your killer might be under the foundry," said Fenris, his voice coming from the lower level. The sudden sound of another made Sebastian hop in his skin, and he forced himself through the fear and down the stairs.

"This wasn't here before," he heard Hawke say from the other side of the wall.

"There's a whole network of tunnels, ins-and-outs, within and underneath Kirkwall," said Anders, "maybe the killer never stayed in one place and recently moved here?"

When Sebastian caught up with the group, he found Hawke ripping a small wooden panel off the floor, revealing a new passageway. "Mother must be down there. With him. Be on your guard, there is something very sinister beneath us."

"Wait," the priest gasped. He hunched down, hands on his thighs, puffs of bitter air bursting from his shaken lungs. The others gave little notice to his awkward return. Seeing Hawke halfway through the opening, Sebastian straightened his spine and forced out a meager, "I... I just..."

"It's fine," said Hawke as she leapt through the passage. Fenris inserted himself to the front so that he was not far behind Hawke in the descent. Gascard the blood mage went down the passage next, then Anders. Watching them go, Sebastian gulped in a ball of air and pushed it down his throat, so that it might loosen the knots and coils in his gut. "O Maker, hear my cry: guide me through the blackest nights. Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked..." When he released it, he followed.

The narrow stairs opened wide to a dank and dirty cellar, rotted furniture tossed about and a winding hall across the way. The thud of Hawke's armored feet against the floor summoned clouds of long-rested dust that stirred in the air.

By the time Sebastian reached the bottom floor with the others, Hawke was raising her sword from her baldric. His fingers brushed the arc of his bow. As he reached for an arrow, gobs of ooze and fire rose from the storm of smoke and crack of flames. As he lined a shot, the demons pulled themselves from under the earth with twisted, twitching fingers. Their bodies were lumps of grey meat strewn together by strings of black nerves and tattered cloths. Their deep, booming moans shook the foundry walls as they swept in on clouds of dust, floating towards their leader.

Hawke stood in the center of the room. The creatures of the Fade encircled her; the shades groaned, and the demons cackled. A ring of fog and fire formed around her. Demonic powers took form in hazy, clouding gray. It spread through the room and made the men cough and wheeze, but Hawke was steady in her breathing and movements as the monsters drew closer to her.

She closed her eyes, took the handle of her sword, and plunged it into the ground. A surge of energy streamed up the blade and across her chest. She opened her eyes, her brown irises soaked in white. She exhaled, and light exuded her body. Her mortal shell became a flash-grenade of piercing rays. Ribbons of light cut through the murky dark as clear as any sword. They sliced at the sides of the demons, turned their moans into hollers, and blasted the smaller, weaker shades into a fine powder.

Hawke's smiting light faded, quick as it had come. The creatures that remained were stunned, teetering in a daze. Anders drew glyphs with a wave of his staff. Like fishnets, the patterns of glowing magic trapped the lesser demons where they stood, leaving them open for Fenris's hammer and Sebastian's arrows.

As the shades fell, a demon-a being of blubbering boils and liquid fire-gave a gargling roar. It thrashed its arms and spilled embers across the cellar. Hawke angled her sword as she charged in. She ducked the demon's attack, rushed in, and cut through the blob of a body. Steam screamed against her steel as she drove it deep inside the demon until it erupted into ash. Every fire extinguished at once with its demise, the soot sank into the ground.

"It would seem the killer is also a mage," said Fenris, shooting Gascard a blazing glare of green as he tightened the grip on his hammer. "You were aware of this, I assume."

"Y-yes," the blood mage gulped, "the man who killed my sister and has Hawke's mother is a mage, and a powerful one. That's why I had to turn to blood magic. It was the only way I could ever hope to take him. I did tell you to be ready for a fight on the way here, did I not?"

"And you should prepare for another when this is over."

"Fenris," said Hawke, "now is not the time."

"You." Gascard turned to Hawke, the very look of her stiff, stony visage making him shiver. "You have Templar abilities."

"I had exposure to lyrium when I was young, and some informal training." Hawke did not bother to look at him as she spoke matter-of-factly. She was walking towards the hall when her eyes flashed with shock. "Mother!" she cried, dashing to the side of the room, to an old canopy. Within there was a woman with short platinum blonde hair, lying on her side. Hawke grabbed the woman's shoulder and turned her over to behold a young but lifeless face. "Alessa..." she said backing away from the corpse of a woman she barely knew.

Anders shuddered. "Hawke, that woman doesn't look anything like your mother. Why would you...?"

"The killer must have gotten to her before she could reach the guards. Damn it, this didn't need to happen. I could have, I should have..."

"Hawke?" said Anders.

"Let's keep going. Hurry, we've wasted enough time."

The priest caught a glimpse of Alessa before the group left the room. The corpse was without feet, cut clean from her ankles. "Oh Maker," he said under his breath, making a quick gesture in prayer as he walked. "Guide that poor woman's soul to your side... but what is happening in this vile place?"

He noticed Fenris keeping close to Hawke as she hurried. Even as they carved their way out of a room filled with walking dead-a collection of rotted bones with blackened muscle between the joints-he was careful not to stray too far from her side. Or perhaps, the priest thought, careful to keep the other men at a distance.

Sebastian stayed in the rear as they walked. Through another hall, passed another corner. The deeper they went, the closer the walls inched to them. Scrapings of wood peeled away, splatters of dried blood and bile cracked in the corners. "Maker's breath, that smell," Hawke coughed. He could hear the dread in her voice, slowly swallowing her resolve like a serpent devouring its prey.

Hawke made a sudden stop, then rushed to a nearby glint in a pile of rubble. She tossed aside rocks and clumps of dirt to fish out a pale silver necklace, the shine of it suggesting it had been in good care until recently. "I know this locket. This belongs to Mother." The chain clinked as she jammed it in her pouch and continued, muttering, "Blessed Andraste... please, please don't take her from me, too."

Anders shrugged, mumbling, "She's losing her composure. Scary to see her like this."

Though it seemed like the mage was talking more to himself, Sebastian agreed with him, which was a rare thing. Ever since he had known her, Hawke had always been a steadfast woman, as firm in her temperament as in her sense of duty. He searched through memories of her, as many as he could while focused on the task at hand. They had crossed paths several times over the past few years, while he was struggling in retaking Starkhaven. They had not been anything resembling friends until a year ago, but a lot had happened since then.

In those past few months, he found himself constantly at her side. To the point where standing beside her was as natural-as easy and welcome-as the flex of his fingers against a bowstring, or breathing in incense and peace in the Chantry halls. But the space between them was now cold, and growing. Fenris had been her friend much longer; clearly he knew what he was doing when he wedged himself between Hawke and the other men. Sebastian could only watch them go further away, and trail at the ends of her shadow.

He watched her run down the stairs and rip through another gathering of corpses like their bones were made of paper. He watched her warm olive tones flush from her face with gritted teeth. He watched fear and fury take over. He watched the woman he had come to idolize disappear.

The archer had fired a single arrow into a hollow skull before the fight was done. When the dust settled, the group realized they were in a makeshift bedroom. Ratted, worn out, mismatched household items splayed on the basement floor.

"Is he living here?" asked Hawke, examining the moldy bedspread of hole-strewn sheets.

The two mages walked towards the shelves. Of all the objects within the space, the books packed inside were in the best condition.

"This is quite a collection," Anders said frankly as he picked one at random and flipped through it pages, then another. "Blood magic, necromancy. Where did he get all these?" The more Anders looked, the more compelled he was to dig through each shelf. He reached for more, studying every scribble he could fit in his arms. "Where did he get all these?"

"Why would he have these?" said Hawke. "What's he planning?"

She began to walk away from the mess when a glance pulled her back in. The four men followed her, old papers crunching under their feet. Beside a mess of crumbled notes and warped wooden chairs, there was a chest that acted as a pedestal for a portrait. It was the single clean and cared for object in the room, petals of fresh white lillies brushed tenderly against the carved frame. The streaks of paint were precise. Drops of oil swirled lovingly on the canvas to make warm brown skin and jet black hair; a noble and winsome visage with full lips, a broad nose, and high cheekbones.

"The woman in the painting," Hawke gasped, "she, she almost looks just like mother."

"A shrine dedicated to a wife?" said Anders. "A sister?"

Hawke chomped down on her trembling lip, and marched away from the shrine. "I need to find her. Now."


	2. The Hurt

Chapter Two: The Hurt

Hawke stormed ahead, the ground cracked beneath her. Fenris sprinted to her side, a word of comfort on his lips, but she kept going and he could not keep up with her. He swallowed his attempt to ease her anxiety, and kept hurrying to maintain a short distance between them.

The other men bolted down the next flight of stairs to catch up to Hawke, but stopped once they saw their leader was still. A man in rags walked towards her from the other side of the room. Silver hair was slicked back, receding behind a wrinkled brow. Bags of black hung from his clouded eyes.

"I was wondering when you'd show up," the man said. A wiry smile crept along his thin, scraggly, sunken face. "Leandra was so sure you'd come for her."

"Where is she?" said Hawke, her voice layered with a demanding, domineering depth.

"Quentin!" Gascard barked. Hawke snarled at the interruption, but kept her steadfast stance.

"Gascard?" the tired looking man in rags lifted a pencil thin brow at the blood mage's intrusion. He smiled, as if entertained by happy coincidence. "So you've reached me after all these years? I figured you gave up."

"Gascard wishes to avenge his sister," Hawke declared, "he'd never give up."

Quentin let out a dry cackle that made Hawke cringe. "Oh, is that what you've been telling people, Gascard? Your sister?"

"Shut up!" said the blood mage. "I'm going to learn your secrets, old man. Everything you kept from me."

Hawke glared at Gascard. "This," she began, the words drudging out, as if the air was ripped from her lungs. "This is what it was about all along?"

"Oh, I do intend to kill him." the blood mage said, his cocky tone and redirected determination driving deeper wrinkles into Hawke's brow. "I will learn his art even if I have to crack his head open to expose the mysteries contained within."

"I'm sorry, Gascard," said Quentin. "When my wife died, I lost all hope. I wasn't able to be the mentor you deserved." He turned away and ran his withered hand along the table. His long fingernails, crammed with blood and muck, traced the warped lines of the wood, navigating from one corner to the arm of a nearby chair. He stared into the seat of it and his smile widened, eye flickered. Whatever he was looking at was bliss to him. "But now, my work is finished, and I can teach you, as I always meant to. Come back to me, Gascard."

"You'll let me be part of this? You'll teach me the secrets of necromancy?"

"I will keep nothing from you."

Hawke watched the blood mage step away from her side to stand with his mentor. Their treacherous, heretical words sunk into her skin like poison darts; her nerves in a spurring stir, tendons twisted and twitched. "If you join him," she growled, "you die with him."

The tug of Hawke's anger made Gascard wince, but he remained beside Quentin. "You are powerful, Hawke, but not that powerful."

"You have no idea what I'm capable of."

Quentin's smile contorted as he reached for the chair. "And now, Gascard, you will be the first to behold my greatest achievement. Do you know what the most powerful force in the universe is?"

"Whatever it is," said Hawke, hands on her sword, "it's a power that you don't deserve. I've had enough of this. Release my mother now or..."

"Love," he said, simply and with a chuckle, as he opened his palm. A pale hand clasped his own, and Quentin pulled it gently from out of the chair, his eyes glowing with affection. As the beginning of a body was hoisted from its seat, Hawke and her group could see crude stitching along the wrists; a border between two colors of skin. "I pieced her together from memory. I found her eyes, her skin, her delicate fingers. And at last, her face... oh, her beautiful face."

A woman's frame rose from the chair, wearing a long white dress, yellowed with age, and wrinkled frills. Once she was out of the chair, she stumbled across the floor. A white veil covered her face while she hobbled towards Hawke like a clumsily pulled puppet, but there was a clear stitch at the base of her neck. She knocked her head up and moaned, and all in the foundry basement could see.

Leandra's face had been sucked of all her lively colors; her bronze skin was pasty, her cheeks and lips dusted into chapped chalk. Her silver hair had turned to fog grey straws. Her brown eyes dimmed to glassy marbles, sitting in scooped up sockets. Her skin was a patchwork of different tones, veins, and cut marks.

Hawke faltered, eyes shrunk and shaking. She lost her stern footing, as if the ground were collapsing under her feet and ready to swallow her whole. A monster approached, wearing her mother's face, as a final piece to the collection of stolen womens' parts.

"I've searched far and wide to find you again, beloved," said Quentin. He and Gascard raised their staffs in unison. "and no force on this earth will part us."

With enchanted staffs waving, bones in the ground rustled from their rest. They clicked together to form bodies. Demons rose through invisible tears, stirred from their otherworldly slumber. They crowded around the woman-shaped creature. The corpse wandered aimlessly while the demons and risen dead swarmed for Hawke and her men.

Anders, Fenris, and Sebastian readied themselves, but saw their leader was unmoved since she beheld what became of her mother. The edge of Hawke's sword was wedged in the ground. Tears rolled down pale cheeks, little whimpers escaped her lips.

"Hawke!" cried the archer. His voice did not reach her, so with a quick bend of his arms, he shot an arrow into the walking skeleton closest to her. He lined another shot, but more corpses and shades came from behind him.

"Hawke!" Fenris hollered, his voice as loud as the crash of bones against his hammer as he swept through a group of creatures. "Snap out of it! You have to fight! Fight!"

There was a flash, barely a second, and all three men could see something in Hawke snap. Her posture shifted; rolled shoulders, flared nostrils, hairs on end. Her clouded gaze became dark and sharp as she looked at the enemy, taking each one in. She squeezed the handle of her sword and charged off the floor like there was lightning in her feet.

She swung her blade through hollow ribcages and empty torsos. Grunts gurgling from gnashed teeth, Hawke bashed in skulls with her pommel, and when some skeletons came too close, their bones met the jab of her elbow. One by one, they fell to her force like houses in a hurricane.

The shades and demons surrounded her, ignoring her companions to target her all at once. She stuck her sword into the ground and wiped their presence away with another burst of light. Their skin turned to dust before an arrow could be shot, or a single spell woven.

Desire demons withstood the blast of Hawke's attack with toothy scowls and hisses. They resisted the light, and countered with shrill screams that disoriented the three men, but Hawke shrugged them off. As the demons twirled dark magic in their long fingers, she bolted straight for them. Her sword glinted, clearing the dank cellar air and demonic mist, slicing through the purple scales of the creatures. The first was cut down and turned to ash, and the second-watching its comrade fall-spun strings of ice in its claws. With a wave, it flung icy daggers towards Hawke. She rolled to the side, her armor clinked as one grazed her. She then jumped to her feet and saw the second demon flinch from a bolt of magic energy that flew from Anders's staff, so she took the opportunity and slashed through the demon's open chest.

She ran for the third desire demon as it flicked flames under its nails. In the distance, Hawke saw Quentin and Gascard working magic to overwhelm her while distracted. She grunted, knowing she only had a few seconds, and swung at the demon's fire-woven claws. In the background she heard the mash of bones, flashing wisps of arcane light, and her own breathing getting harder and raspier. The rush of battle and the panic bubbling up from the pit of her gut made her spew sweat, and her vision blurred. Quentin's laughter hung overhead, mixed with the stench of rotted flesh. It reached for every corner like a toxic cloud, hazing her vision and stinting her movements.

There was a sharp zipping through the air, then the squish of broken flesh and a holler of pain, as an arrow shot through a clear path and into Gascard's shoulder. As the blood mage fell to his knees, another arrow was shot, but it was deflected by a barrier that enveloped him and Quentin in a curtain of white. More arrows came, but their sharpened heads bounced off the barrier.

The last desire demon drew a flicker of flames with a snap of its fingers and waved it in Hawke's face like a torch. Hawke backed her head away as a spark climbed up a sweat-strewn strand and singed her hair. She bucked forward, the end of her blade plunging through fire and scale until it prodded out from the demon's winged back. It screamed as its form turned to shapeless black dust around the sword. With weapon free again, Hawke raised it and ran, readying a mighty swing as her eyes began to glow.

As she ran, waves of white formed from underneath her feet. They wrapped around her legs, flowed to her waist, until they coursed along her whole body, pulsating with righteous fury. She swung her sword and the waves slipped across the steel as it banged against the barrier. The metal clanged, holy waves spilled onto the curtain, unraveling the magic that held it together until it and dissipated into nothing.

Gascard wobbled back onto his feet, but another sharp zip of an arrow, and he was pinned to the floor. Quentin backed away, waving his staff, and a hex symbol poured from its tip to the ground. Waves of energy kept spurring from Hawke's feet, and as she marched towards the old mage, they washed away the cursing symbols, allowing her to walk towards him with no interruption.

"Stay back," he said, fingers twitching as he stammered away from Hawke. His once sly tone became fragile and shaking, his confidence squeezed out by the pressure of Hawke's stony gaze. Fizzling little bolts of lightning erupted from his staff. "I won't let you take her from me. She is everything to me. You will pay for this transgression, you who dare stand in the way of true love."

Hawke spat out a gob of blood and kept walking towards him, her cold stare steadfast. "How dare you," she said, inching closer, dark glazed eyes watching the fear in Quentin's face. "How dare you speak of love after what you've done. These women had homes, families, people who cared for them. They had talents and dreams. They had lives of their own and you took it all from them. Like they were nothing. Like their lives meant nothing." She watched the mage pedal back until there was no space left. His back met the wall and his pupils shrunk, his grey hairs spindled on the risen bumps of skin. "The name of the woman whose face you took... her name was Leandra," she continued. "She was a noble, but she ran away from home to be with a man named Malcolm, because she believed in love. She knew what it was. Even when things were hard-which was often-she never stopped believing. She... she loved to dance. She loved romantic adventure stories and braiding hair. She had two daughters and a son. And all she ever wanted was to be happy and safe with them. But those things never mattered to you, did they? They never even occurred to you."

She stopped as she heard the stretch of a bowstring behind her. Gascard was at her feet, wading in an expanding pool of blood. Moaning, the blood mage attempted to hoist himself back up with shaking arms. All of his shades and demons were gone. Hawke's companions were close behind, ready to strike at her signal. Gascard lifted his head, and the bowstring was ready to snap; an arrow between the eyes would bring a quick death.

She raised her palm flat, signaling for her archer to cease fire. "You don't care, do you?" she continued, watching Quentin's glassy eyes bulge with panic. "You have no remorse. You do not have the face of a man who regrets anything. All I see is an animal in a corner, with nothing left to lose." In the clutch of his curled talons, a small flame burst into crackling kindle. "Go ahead," she snarled, "I dare you."

Quentin's flame flew from the cradle of his palm, but Hawke was quicker. She jammed her sword in the floor, and her form was enveloped in white. The mage's fire fizzled against the massive brilliance of the blast.

Her light phased through Quentin like rays of holy judgment beaming through darkness, banishing shadows. It sank into his skin, stung the nerves, boiled the blood, stopped the flow of cells. The mage's fingers curled and shriveled like vines under the sun. He pooled what little strength he had into one lifted arm to begin another spell, but his skin gave no spark, powers sapped. His body was a hollowed, wrinkled husk. The light warbled his vision and he fell to his knees.

The earth clanged as Hawke dropped her sword and continued her walk towards the mages. She first came to Gascard, overwhelmed by pain and loss of blood. His chest heaved slightly, but he was punctured, bruised, and bloody. He would be dead soon.

But not soon enough. Hawke looked downed at him with glaring teeth, disdain wedged in every muscle in her face. "Liar!" she spat out, the one word heated like flame from a dragon's mouth. She placed her armored foot upon his nose. Her three companions watched as she applied force and stomped into his skull, his face caving in around the plating of her boot. Anders and Fenris were both still, but Sebastian winced at the first crunch of bone, whimpered at the first gush of popped flesh. Blood splattered from underneath Hawke's heel. She lifted her foot from the opened gash that was once Gascard's head, then proceeded to Qunetin.

The old necromancer was in a daze; half conscious, rocking back and forth on his knees. She swung her armored knuckles into one sullen cheek, then the other. All three men cringed. The mage's face was a mix of purple and red, pulpy and swollen, but she did not stop. She balled his hair in her fist and slammed his face with her knee. The blow made him fall on his back. She bent over his chest so she could grab his shoulders to shake him and slam him into the ground.

"You don't even care," she cried, voice hoarse as she worked herself into a continuous motion of swings on the unconscious old man. She alternated between shoves, slams, slaps, and punches. Anything to make him hurt. "You don't even care. You don't even care."

Every walloping of pounded flesh sent shudders through the backs of her companions. They exchanged blank stares as the foundry fell quiet; all except for Hawke's brutal assault. Demon bodies were disintegrating all around them, twists of black dust spiraling to nothing, leaving the faint scent of charred meat scattered about the lair of abominable deeds.

There was a throaty gasp against the swing of her fists. A feeble whimper against gushing meat and leaking blood. One last squeaking little breath of ache before the body gave out. The old voice was silenced, his battered limbs stiff and soaked, but the sound of Hawke's grunting and pummeling continued.

Anders, Fenris, and Sebastian watched with mouths agape as their leader continued to flail against Quetin's corpse. She growled and grunted as she flung her fists, her face splattered with blood and sweat.

"Hawke!" hollered Anders, his voice cracked in disgust and horror. "What are you doing?"

Fenris clenched his fingers tight, but could not stop himself from shaking. "Hawke, stop," he said, trying to be calm, "it's over."

"Judith, please!" Sebastian cried, eyes misty and arms trembling. "He's already dead!"

"You don't even care," she said again, unmoved by the pleas of the men at her back. Though her voice had become rough and raspy, the words cycled and flowed from her mouth, like a chant of hate and need for blood. "You don't even care, you don't even care."


	3. Orphans

Chapter Three: Orphans

Sebastian took a step towards Hawke, hand outreached for her, but saw he was still shaking. "Please stop," formed in his throat as a poignant plea, but came out his mouth as a pitiful whine. He turned to Fenris. "We have to get her out of here," he begged of his friend.

"I know," he said, voice low and gritted with pain. He never took his eyes off Hawke as she continued to throw her bloodied fists at the corpse. He grit his teeth. "I've just never seen her so... we have to be gentle with her."

"Of course."

"Hawke! Your mother!" Anders yelled. When his intruding voice reached Hawke, she dropped Qunentin's bloody collar and his body fell to the floor. She turned and found the stitched up woman corpse stumbling away. The crumpled yellow ends of her long dress caught dirt as it dragged along the cellar. It moaned as it struggled to lift a foot over the bottom stair. "Maker," the apostate gasped, "is she trying to leave? Does she know where she is?"

Fenris beheld the site in cold horror, low pitched words from a strapped throat and fumbling lips. "Is Hawke's mother... still in there somehow?"

"Mother!" Hawke cried as she ran for the stairs. The corpse wobbled up one step, one foot hovering over the second, then she lost balance and teetered backwards. Hawke rushed to the end of the stairs and caught her as she fell. "Mother..." Hawke's knees shook until they could take no more, and slammed against the ground. The corpse body unfurled in Hawke's arms like she was giving up on a long and fruitless struggle. Her arms uncoiled, knuckles in the ground, and head knocked down. The tiara and veil rolled off the top of her head. There was a faint mumbling beneath Hawke's sobs.

"There's... nothing I can do," said Anders. "The magic that was keeping her alive..."

"I knew you would come," said Leandra. In a fleeting moment of lucidity-like one last breath before drowning-she collected her strength and lifted up her head to look her daughter in the eyes. The clarity of her words silenced Hawke.

"Don't move, Mother," said Hawke. There were lumps in her throat from swallowed anguish. "We'll find a way to..."

"Ssh, don't fret darling." Leandra's voice was gentle and soft, wrapping the grizzled bloody scene in an uneasy calm. Every word that passed was fainter than the last. "That man would have kept me trapped in here. But now... I'm free. I get to see Carver again... and your father. But you'll be here alone."

"I should have watched you more closely, I should have..."

"My little girl has become so strong." Leandra's stitched fingers, feather light, reached out for Hawke. The stitched digits trembled, the simple motion a painful ordeal, and brushed against her daughter's cheek. "I love you," she said with a serene smile, a spark of her original self glinted in the eyes. "You've always made me so proud."

Then the fingers wilted and fell away from Hawke's face. They drifted to the bottom, uncurled against the foundry floor. Every tensed muscle came undone in her daughter's arms, every last cling to consciousness melted away. Her smile came undone and the glint faded, leaving a blank expression on a collection of limp body parts.

Hawke's hair was matted down with sweat and blood, hanging over like a veil so none could see her face. Anders had stepped away, fists tight and eyes closed, waiting for the moment to end. Fenris stood close, as if standing watch, so that no one may interrupt. Sebastian remained where he was, paralyzed with uncertainty. The prayers that would normally come to him and sweep peace in to his mind were absent. All he could hear was Hawke sobbing, broken by chokes and swallows; she was still trying to keep it all down, futile as it was. Every fiber in his body told him 'do something', but no answers came. He soaked his gloves with sniffling tears.

One last pained chortle, and Hawke released her grip and stood up. The corpse softly patted the ground. She was still, looking up to the ceiling. A few last gulps to push down the rest of her tears, until her face was cracked and dry.

"Hawke," said Fenris. He walked towards her, pacing the spaces between his soft steps and calmed words. "I, I don't know what to say. I'm sorry. We should leave this place."

"We need to inform the Guard," Hawke blurted out.

"Then I will get the Guard. I will take care of this for you. It's all I can do..." He ducked his head down in shame and uncertainty.

"No, I should be here. I need to tell Aveline myself."

"I can tell her. Aveline will understand. Haw... Judith. This place. It's not good for you to be here any longer. Please listen to me."

Sebastian saw the quick glint of Fenris's eyes in his direction, looking to him for help. Obliging, he stepped forward. "I am so sorry, Hawke... but Fenris is right. We need to get you out of here. Let me walk you home."

"Why?" said Hawke. "So you can lecture me on how you were right all along? That I was a fool to stray from the Maker's good graces?"

Her words were dulled by the grumbling, groggy tone of her voice, but they cut the priest all the same. "Of course not," he said, flinching. "I wouldn't. Please believe me."

"Besides, I can't just leave her here." Her eyelids crinkled, as if she were fighting the temptation to look back down at the corpse at her feet. As if allowing herself to look at Leandra would break her down all over again. "It's bad enough... this world must take away everyone I love. They have to desecrate their bodies, too. One final insult. One more thing to haunt me, because I couldn't... I couldn't..."

"We won't leave her here. Once the Guard is informed, I'll go back to the Chantry and begin preparations. Everyone will be respectful, I promise you."

She did not answer. With shaking nerves and tensed tendons he stepped towards Hawke and put his hands on her broad shoulders. She kept her face turned away from him, but did not resist. "Judith, I understand..."

"You do not."

"But I do. We don't have to talk about it now, but please, just let me help you..." Between strands of fallen, slicked hair, the priest spotted a patched of scorched skin on the woman. He brushed away her bangs and revealed the burn on her cheek, just beneath the old scar that crossed her eyes. "Oh, Hawke, you've been burned."

"It's fine."

"It's not fine," Sebastian said, his voice cracking, mist building up in the corners of his eyes. "You're not fine."

"Here," interrupted Anders. He came between the two, his hands beaming with healing green light. "I can heal that in a moment, then we can leave."

"Don't touch me!" Hawke's voice blast into a throaty shout. With a violent jerk, she smacked away Anders's magic and ripped herself away from Sebastian's gentle hold.

The apostate scowled. "Hawke, I know you're hurting, but that's not going to get better on its own. I just wanted to help."

"I don't want your help, mage."

His face flared in anger. "How can you possibly..."

"Anders, now is not the time," said Sebastian. He looked at Hawke as she stepped further away, her arms folded across her stomach, and sighed. He went to Fenris, took a small vial and cloth from his belt pouches and placed them in his palm. "Here, I have some ointment for the burn. I think Hawke would be more comfortable... if you took her home. I will go get Aveline."

"That... would be best, I think."

"And Anders, you may want to leave now, before the Guard gets here."

"You don't have to tell me twice."

Sebastian watched Anders storm off, then he watched Fenris extend an opened hand to Hawke, which she eventually accepted, and they walked out together. He stood over the remains of Leandra and muttered a prayer before he left.

He watched the guards pour into the foundry, but did not dare to go back in himself. There were bodies lifted up and carried away in wraps as he walked away.

He drudged along the stone steps that spiraled from Lowtown to Hightown, a climb so high and long that bright fingers of dawn were peaking through the starless night by the time he reached the top. Vendors were beginning to set up their stalls in the Market square as he passed, same as they did everyday. As if nothing strange had occurred beneath them. He shuddered as he walked up another flight of stairs, through another walkway of estates and pillars. His throat shut; he was getting closer to the Hawke Manor, and hours had passed, but no comforting words had come to him, as he had hoped. When her home was in sight, sweat dribbled down his forehead. Closer still, the family emblem clear in sight over her door, and his heart thumped heavily, hearing the footsteps of another close by. The priest backed away, behind the corner of the walkway he had passed, and watched Aveline march straight through the plaza and into the estate. There was no strain or anxiety in her approach.

He put his head against the wall and sighed. Relief eased the tension in his limbs, but a twinge of guilt remained, running its crooked claw along his spine. "She wouldn't want to see me anyway." Once he heard the estate door firmly shut, he walked through the plaza and back to the Chantry, accepting the pain in the creak of his back.

A few days later, Sebastian watched Leandra's body burn. The body was carried on a bier of wood and needles soaked in oils. She wore a dress of linen and lace, befitting a noblewoman of the Free Marches. The body in carriage wafted in the hands of the procession, passing through the gates of the Chantry garden. He walked with the Grand Cleric and all the sisters, surrounding the carriers with torches, lighting their way in the dark evening. Hawke lead the way, the vanguard of the mourners. They drifted through the Hightown streets like an incoming fog. Her torch seemed to burn brightest, but against the flicker of flame, he saw her expression was blank. Her tired eyes were glazed against the fire, the bags underneath accentuated by the light. It was as if she had not slept, had not moved, since he last saw her in the foundry.

Soft whimpers, prayers, and songs floated in the arid summer air, but Hawke was silent. He knew the others were around somewhere, save for the mages, but all he could see was her unmoving face.

When they arrived in the center of the garden, Grand Cleric Elthina took her place beside Hawke and began the prayer of the final sending. Normally the holy words of his mentor, laced with tender wisdom and delicate purity, would ease the stormy waters of Sebastian's mind. But as much as he tried to focus, her words came out as a wringing blur.

When the Grand Cleric finished, Hawke was the first to lift her torch and bring it to the brier. It was her flame that first spread along the timbers and burned her mother's dress. The other mourners approached after, and soon Leandra's body was enveloped in flames.

From across the blooming fire, the priest saw a young woman in Circle robes walk to Hawke's side. She was shorter than the statuesque warrior, she had wider and rounder frame and features than the broad and angular Hawke, and she had wavy black hair where Hawke's was straight and brown. But they both had dark brown skin and big brown eyes, and there was a proud and noble essence to both of them that made him think they were related.

"Oh Judith," the young woman sobbed, burying her flushed and puffy face in Hawke's shoulder. "It's all gone so wrong."

He watched Hawke flinch as the mage tucked herself in her arms. It was as though affection was a force unknown to her, and she did not know how to react. Whatever words uttered between the two women were too soft for the priest to hear, and overpowered by the snaps of flame and the cracking of wood.

"Her sister," a low voice stumbled in beside Sebastian. He turned and saw Fenris with his head down. "Bethany. She was... taken to the Circle several years ago. It was before you came to us."

"I knew she had a mage sister, I think I may have seen her a few times in the Chantry... but we never formally introduced."

"For what it's worth, Sebastian, I don't think you did anything wrong back there. She just needed to be alone. When I got her home, she did not send me away, but I could tell that's what she wanted. Not that there was anything I could say. I think Aveline could see it as well, so she left."

"She... she left her? But... Hawke should not be alone. This is her hour of need. If I had known..." He bowed his head in shame. "It should have been me. I should have been there for her."

Fenris shrugged. "As I took Hawke home, all she could say was... that she was too late. I imagine she meant for Bethany and her brother, as well."

"Her brother...?" The sudden realization made Sebastian gasp, disgusted with himself. "That's right, she said Leandra had two daughters and a son... but Judith never spoke of a brother. Surely I would have remembered..."

"Only Bethany ever spoke of him. It was her twin, Carver. I believe he and Hawke were soldiers in their homeland before the Blight, and he died during their escape."

The priest covered his cringing frown with one hand, palm against the shameful crinkles forming on his face. "Oh, Judith... if I'm not there for you, now when you really need someone, then what good am I to you?" He peaked through the spaces of his fingers to spot Hawke and her sister, but their forms were lost in the billowing pillar of smoke as it sprouted from Leandra's burning brier and spiraled into the heavens.


	4. Sky Demon

Chapter Four: Sky Demon

A monster watched overhead.

Its body was paper thin, open slits for eyes. It stretched across the sky, a translucent film wrapped over the dimming starts. It never moved on its own, only watched and flapped with the wind. Judith Hawke caught glimpses of it through spaces between the trees above, but she paid it no mind. The creature expanded across the heavens, as natural as a mountain's overcastting shadow. It was a part of this world.

Below, sheets of mist unfurled from the darkest corners of the forest. It tumbled along the dewy tips of grass and into a blood-smeared clearing. It trailed over the thicket of twigs and rocks, obscuring the act that took place there. As it tangled itself into the wood, it slowly distilled the stench of rot and death.

Judith knelt in the middle of the bloody forest clearing, as a young woman. She cradled a fallen man, the back of his skull in her palm. She was hunched over, teeth pressed so hard on her lip that she drew blood.

"I'm sorry, little bird," said the man, urging words through the gunk in his mouth. "I'm so sorry..."

Morning light spilled into the forest. Pale yellow ribbons splayed themselves through openings in the thicket of treetops, rolled along their barks and onto the mesh of stained green. As the light spread, it came upon the two, wading where the blood was thickest; against the rays, the blackish hues turned bright red.

"Papa don't," said Judith, a spat of indignation and resistance that made the forest shudder. She took a hard swallow, pushing down her rattling nerves, and began to tear the rim of her nightshirt. "Don't talk anymore, you're only wasting energy. I'll stop the bleeding. Then Bethany can fix you up, you'll be good as new."

"Bethany only knows the basics of Creation magic and I... I've lost too much blood."

"Give Bethany more credit, Papa. I just need to get you home. Just relax, I can do this."

As the man in her arms coughed, the girl looked across the clearing. The blood spread around them, painting every corner in her sights. It trailed through the clearing and connected to another pool, from another body. It was motionless; nothing but a lump of grey meat. She glanced at it for a moment, watching sunlight creep over its crooked spine, and cringed.

Judith tore up her nightshirt into straps and covered all her father's cuts until her stomach was bare, but the blood was still everywhere. She cried and shouted for help until her throat was hoarse, but it only stirred nesting birds. She felt her father going limp in her arms; his hands made a heavy thump against the ground. She looked around once more and still found herself alone. Accepting the fact that help was not coming, and with a quick swallow to push down the rising bile of fear, she laid her father onto the grass and stood up to find help herself.

The clouds were ripped apart and the sunlight shifted, as if the whole world were being picked up and titled. The sudden shake knocked Judith off balance and turned her ankles to jelly. Her knees and palms slammed into the soft, wet earth. Queasy and blubbery, gobs of tears plopped from her face onto the ground. In a fit of sobs, she cranked her neck up and saw the world shudder around her. Needles rustled as they shed from their branches. Mud and puddles hopped in their holes. The mountains in the distance were dislodged from their ancient foundations. The two fresh corpses in the clearing were sliding in their own blood.

The monster materialized. Its phantom form grew a stony coating in its descent from the ether. It towered so high, shreds of clouds adorned its neck like wispy scarves. Judith opened her mouth to scream, but her voice was scraped dry. She watched a giant hand, with fingers like columns of bricks, scoop up her father's body. Malcolm's limbs swung in the air as he was lifted from the clearing.

With all that was left of her strength, she outreached one hand and whimpered, "No. No, please don't take him from me."

If the monster was aware of the crying tiny woman, it made no show of it. It curled in its fingers and raised its hand with her dead father inside. As it drew further away, the world reverberating from its single movement, the coating disappeared. Its earthly form invisible, and Malcolm along with it, pulled from all mortal tethers.

On all fours, too weak to stand or shout, Judith watched the monster and her father fade from existence. She balled the grass in her fists and felt a sticky warmth creep up her fingers. She shuddered, thinking it morning dew, but when she looked down, she found her mabari. A war hound, bulky with grayish-brown fur, licking her hand.

"Ah, Gallant..." she moaned, giving the dog a scratch with her wet hand before sitting up in the bed. The haze of the dream shed from her eyes as she rubbed them with her free hand. The forest clearing melted from her sight, replaced with the plush sheets and draping canopy of her bed. The sharp smell of wet pine disappeared, replaced with the smoky scent of an extinguished fireplace. Tears, water, fresh blood, and goose bumps on a young woman's body were gone, transformed into the weathered muscles and dried old scars of an experienced warrior. She looked down and saw she was still in her clothes, a loose black tunic and trousers. She then looked up and saw dim ribbons of grey and purple light refracting from her bedroom window. "Damn, I slept through another day..."

Gallant tilted his head and whined. "You could tell I was having a nightmare, couldn't you, boy?" She balled fists in the blankets as she tried to lift herself off the bed and onto her feet, but an ache sprouted from the pit of her gut and rooted through her limbs. Her arms shook and she fell back on the bad. "Ah, could've used the wake-up call a few hours ago..." The dog's triangular ears flipped as he gave low, conversational grumbles. "No, I'm sorry, that's not your fault, it's mine."

Hawke gave him another scratch. Taking it as an invitation, the dog bent down, stubby tail wagging, and launched himself on the bed. "Gallant!" she snapped at the sudden bounce of the mattress, nearly flinging her off the bed. The dog nudged himself against her with happy fervor. Still weary from her long sleep, she folded her arms over his back and leaned in. "Thank you for waking me when you did," she muttered with a low and cracked voice. The dog fidgeted against the weight of his master as she collapsed, fingers in his back fur, his bulk muffling her chortled sob. "I just couldn't... I couldn't do anything."

"Hawke? Messere?" came Bodhan's voice from behind the bedroom door, joined with a fretful knocking. "Messere, are you awake? May I come in?"

Hearing the worry in the dwarf's words, she swallowed the strain in her voice and projected a clear, "Yes, Bodhan, I'm up."

The door creaked open and a stout bearded man popped in. "I'm terribly sorry to disturb you, my lady, but dinner is ready, and it's not like you to miss a meal."

"No, it certainly isn't," she said, forcing a light laugh.

"You've been asleep most of the day, too. I was beginning to worry. I tried to wake you, but you were so deeply asleep."

"I'm sorry, Bodhan, I suppose I've just been... tired."

The door flew open, knob banged against the wall, as Bodhan's son, Sandal, ran into the room. He flopped himself over Judith's lap and looked up at her with wide, wiggling eyes. "Please wake up," he said.

"I'm awake now, Sandal, but thank you."

"Wake up?"

"I promise you, I've woken up. There's no need to worry." Gallant began to whine again, and Sandal imitated the sound with a big frown and trembling lip. "Oh, you two. I can't bear to see those faces. You know puppy eyes are my weakness."

"My lady?" another, frail voice peeped from the hall. A young elf woman with a small frame and near-white blonde hair popped her head in the door. "Are... are you coming for dinner? I made your favorite stew. It's got chicken and potatoes and... all the things you like. If you don't want any, though, I understand."

"Orana, please, it's all right. You know I love your cooking." She kept up a steady smile, seeing everyone in the Hawke Estate worried for her, wanting to care for her. She felt her stomach twist, but it was not empty. There was deep grumble from the pit of her gut, but it wasn't hunger. She pictured the warm stew-golden broth and glistening chunks of meat-but the image only sent curdling cringes from her head that rippled down her body. But she saw their sad, wide eyes all upon her, and conceded. Her long legs shook as she stood up, but after a few stumbling steps, she regained steady footing and reached the door. "All right, I'm ready now. Let's all have dinner together."

The food was as she pictured; better even, with fresh vegetables and bits of meat so thick, they absorbed most of the broth, making them plump and dripping with juices. She looked into her bowl and the knot in her gut persisted. Her head still swam with weariness, touching her food with edges of grey.

Bodhan, Sandal, and Orana were chatting around her. "So I leave the boy off at the bathhouse so he can affix the heat runes, right?" the older dwarf rambled on. "Well, I came back after my errands to get him, and wouldn't you know, there's bubbles spilling from out the door! Don't know he managed to make that big a mess, I don't think they even had that much soap in the building! So then..."

His voice began to blur, their words becoming fuzzy nothings floating around her head. She looked down into her bowl and tried to focus on eating. She stabbed a piece of meat with her spoon and it squished against the curve. The sound only triggered her stomach to fold in, the lines against her frown to deepen.

"Ah... Hawke?" said Bodhan. She looked up and found her three helpers looking at her with worried frowns. Their bowls were all nearing empty, the streams of steam long faded. "Is something the matter?"

"I don't understand," said Orana. "I made it like I always do..."

"Oh!" Hawke cried, realizing what she had done. Her spine snapped straight and her eyes popped. "Oh no, Orana, I'm sorry. I'm just... still tired. I just needed a moment for the smell to wake me up." Still feeling their worried gazes on her, she scooped as much of the stew as she could in one spoonful and shoveled it into her mouth. It swished in her mouth like grimy gruel. Broth dribbled down the corners of her lips and her cheeks swelled as she chewed. The lump in her throat engorged as she forced down a heavy swallow. The food dropped to the bottom of her gut like a cannonball on a brick floor, but she held in the urge to gag and groan and wedged in a crooked smile. "It's wonderful, as usual. Thank you so much."

The girl's ears twitched downward and big eyes wiggled. Seeing the worry and disbelief, Bodhan spoke up again to fill the quiet. "Ah, you know... maybe this is for the best. You've been pushing yourself so hard. You haven't given yourself a proper break since becoming Champion."

"Well, you don't get a title like that by lazing around in bed all day," said Hawke as she gulped down another spoonful.

"Now, now, you're the least lazy person in all of Kirkwall and everyone knows it, including you. You need to rest, is all. After all that's happened, who could blame..."

"The fighting broke out so fast," Hawke's voice dropped. Her spoon began to shake, droplets of stew falling back into the bowl. "I wanted to talk them down, brought Fenris with me because he spoke the language, knew more about them then I did. I was certain, with the two of us, the Arishok would listen to reason. We were talking. Aveline said some things I didn't like, and I said some things she didn't approve of. Then a guard fell dead, and another, and all I could do was to keep going, keep fighting. I... never apologized to the three of you. I couldn't reach you in time. I left you all alone."

"There's no need for apologies. You're the reason Kirkwall is still in tact. And we're all here safe, aren't we? The Guard gathered most of us and got us to the Chantry. Few Templars too, I think. Working together to protect everyone. If I hadn't been so scared, I would have been inspired."

"The grumpy one helped us!" exclaimed Sandal.

"You're absolutely right, my boy. Your friend Fenris was the one to get us, actually. Took a few Qunari down escorting us to the Chantry."

"He took my hand," Orana said softly with a smile. "He asked me how I was doing. I told him you were taking very good care of me, and he said he didn't doubt it."

"I didn't know that," said Hawke, "after the attack began, we split up, but we rejoined when I stormed the Keep. I'm not surprised, though. I can always count on Fenris. Thank you for telling me."

"He stayed guard for a while, before more guards came. Then he left to find you. Isn't that right, boy?"

"The shiny man went with him."

"Shiny man?" asked Hawke.

"Err, yes. That priest fellow with the bow and the fancy white armor who accompanies you from time to time."

"Oh," The Champion gave up trying to eat and looked up at the dwarves. "You mean Sebastian."

"Yes, and now that I remember, he was more worried than I was. Did a lot of pacing. Saw him talk to the Grand Cleric a lot, I think I heard him say your name a few times, but I don't know what it was about. Eventually he and Fenris left together."

"I see."

The Chantry bells rang from the other side of Hightown, the echo blasting through the manor windows. Hawke hopped in her seat at the shock of the clarion clanging.

"Are you all right?" asked Bodhan.

"I'm fine, just surprised," she sighed. "Maker, I haven't gone to the Chantry in weeks. I used to go all the time."

"We could go now, if you like."

"No, no, I can't go now, just like that. The day's nearly done, I need to do something. Are there any messages for me?"

"Yes, actually. Several. There's even one from the Knight Commander."

"What?" her voice spiked up and her eyes went wide. The last of her sleepy dreariness shook off as she snapped out of her seat.

"It was just a few hours ago, and I told her messenger you were unavailable. It's all right."

Hawke did not respond. She turned away and walked out of the dining room and into the foyer. She frowned at the sight of a stack of papers.

"The newest ones are on top," said Bodhan as he followed Hawke to the desk.

"Can't even rest for a few days," she said to herself as she flipped through the letters, her brown eyes skimming through each to determine their urgency. "Meredith wishes to speak with me as soon as possible, but it doesn't say what it's about."

"There aren't any more ferries to the Gallows until morning. I'm sure the Knight Commander doesn't mind waiting another day. She's, ahem, a reasonable woman. Reasonable enough."

Hawke sighed as she put Meredith's letter down and focused on another. "This one is from Bran's office. Wants me to take care of bandits sighted by the Wounded Coast. Could've given this job to anyone. Probably just busywork so I stay out of the Keep longer. That's all I'm good for, right?" Her voiced cracked, coarse and husky. She slammed the letter into the desk, the thwack against the wood made the two dwarves and the elf shudder simultaneously. "Just killing things, right? I'm practically a sword with legs, isn't that so?"

"Messere, please," pleaded Bodhan. "Let's just finish dinner and relax. You can worry about all these jobs later."

"No, you know what?" She began walking all over the house; up the stairs to change, grabbing her sword and pieces of her armor. "He wants me to do busywork, I'll do busywork. I just need to get out, do something. Anything."

"Oh no, please reconsider," Bodhan protested, following her down each hall.

"But you didn't wake up yet," whined Sandal.

"Your dinner is cold," said Orana. She picked up one of Hawke's armlets and presented it to her, but her eyes were wide and sad and her ears drooped.

"I'm sorry, Orana," she said, accepting her help and lifting her arms so Orana could clasp it on. "It was wonderful, but I just can't eat now. I'll finish it later."

"Oh, okay," her ears perked as she fastened the straps on Hawke's chest plate.

Bodhan grumbled at Orana's change of tone and alliance. "I really must insist that you wait. This isn't like you at all."

"No, this is exactly like me. I've barely done anything these past few days. I want to go and help in some way. I want to feel like myself again."

"Will you at least get your friends to help? The Chantry is just a short walk away, after all. I'm sure your priest friend will be more than happy to..."

"No," Hawke's response was quick and cold. "That won't be necessary. It's just a few thugs, that won't be any trouble for me. Besides, Sebastian leads the evening service, I can't... that is, I wouldn't be able to see him."

"Then what about Aveline, or Isabela?"

"I'm not asking the Guard Captain to help me with a simple task, and Isabela's gone."

"Then perhaps..."

"Bodhan. It's fine. I promise. I'll be back soon."

"No dessert?" asked Sandal.

Hawke smiled at the young dwarf. "Go ahead without me," and she left the estate, her mabari thumping at her side, Bodhan's bemoaning behind her.


	5. A Crack in the Wall

Chapter Five: A Crack in the Wall

The Chantry bells subsided, their echoes melted in the gentle evening breezes. The sun drifted behind purple curtains, and its last streams of light dispersed in the clouds. With every step the Champion took, every district shut its doors behind her, with nobles and guards filing through the streets.

Hawke, in her armor and with sword at her back, navigated through a lulling Hightown. Head down and arms locked tight against her sides, she walked down the massive steps that led to the middle layer of Kirkwall.

Lowtown still flared with noise as daylight died; ten people in the stony clutter for every noble in spacious, garden-lined Hightown. Drunks and beggars scattered in the alleys. Merchants, miners, and dock workers bustled through the arches, to their apartments stacked together in the enclaves of the city walls. Hawke forced a smile and waved to the people that suspected the Champion's presence, but otherwise kept her focus, turning tight corners to the clearest path. Onlookers melded with the crowds, their comments lost in the sifting chatter; by the time they realized the woman in black armor was the city's savior, she had already marched far away.

She walked down a set of stairs that joined a collection of stalls-a makeshift market district-to blocks of living spaces. The first building at the foot of the stairs was a tavern. It was tactfully wedged between the shops and apartments, and marked by a small burlap man hanging from a string by the entrance. She made a sharp turn and hugged the walls when laughter sprung from the door. A light, silvery giggle, joined with a low, raspy chuckle, both familiar. Hawke continued down her path, as she had work to do, but she was stopped by a cheerful, "Hey Hawke!" by the deeper voice.

She cringed at being caught, but quickly cranked a small, polite grin as she turned to greet her friend. "Oh, hello, Varric."

"Shit, that's all you have to say?" said the dwarf in an open duster and heavy stubble. His voice was loose and curt, as usual. As if nothing changed. "Feel like I haven't seen you in ages! Were you even going to stop in and see me?"

"I'm sorry. I wasn't avoiding you, I've just been busy."

"Judy Hawke works too hard, and the sun is hot," he japed with a dramatic throw of his hands in the air.

"You know me all too well," Hawke conceded.

The storyteller cringed at Hawke's flat delivery and blank expression, but shrugged it off and continued. "Anyway, I'm glad I caught you. You're just in time." A woman walked the corner and towards Hawke and Varric, as if on cue. Chunky golden trinkets jangled against her as she moved, matching eyes flickered under the unruly waves of her black hair, and her leathers smelled of sea salt. "The good Captain has returned to us!"

Hawke took a step back; Isabela's sudden presence was like a stone cast in still waters, stirring sleeping memories, a barrage of scenes from weeks and months ago playing all at once. But she could not pull the numb muscles in her face to show any shock. "It is good to see you again, Isabela."

"Good to be seen," said the pirate, with a smirk that stopped short. She saw Hawke's stony face and became uncertain of her reception. "It's been..."

"I'm sorry," Hawke blurted out, returning to her path. "I have no time to catch up right now. You should go see Fenris when you can, though. I'm sure he'd be thrilled to see you again. Merrill, too."

"I'll do that, but I was hoping to..."

"I'm sorry, but I really must be off. I have a job to take care of."

Varric and Isabela exchanged confused looks. Isabela shrugged, her sunny smile faded, but Varric jogged up to Hawke. "Hey, we could tag along and help. It'll be like old times."

"Old times? Varric, don't be ridiculous. I've just been doing other things, that's all. It's not like you need to see me every day."

He winced. Hawke did not stop to notice how deep her remark cut into him. She was down another set of stairs when he and Isabela caught up to her, each walking at her side.

"We don't have to do any grand regaling if you don't want to," said Isabela. "We could just come along and do the talky feely stuff later. What's the job?"

"Bandits. One gang got pushed out of their territory in the city, so now they're attacking travelers on the Coast. Nothing I can't handle."

"You say it like they're going to just line up and go limp for you."

"Hawke," said Varric, "I know you're a one-woman army and all. Pretty sure I've described you as such at least twice in my book. But even a bunch of untrained goonies can gang up on one person. There's no harm in having some extra help, right?"

"Are you calling me helpless?" Hawke barked, a hot light snapping in her eyes as she glowered at her storytelling friend.

"Wh, what? No, never, you know that," Varric guffawed. "I mean, shit, Hawke, remember who you're talking to."

"It's us, Hawke," added Isabela, "we're the ones with nothing to do. You can even keep all the money."

"It's not the money," said Hawke, her angry expression extinguished as quickly as it ignited. She continued marching further and faster down the final staircase and past the gates. "You can keep it, if you insist on coming along. I just need to do something."

They walked past the last enclave of huddled little houses, bunched together in cold stone. They walked across the broad side of the cliff, where the sentinel Twin statues peaked out from the jagged channel. They walked until the solid grassy earth turned loose and grainy. No one spoke as the group advanced. Isabela heard the shuffle of sand under her boots and huffed in salty sea air. Then she looked ahead as Hawke marched further away, a cold space of bitter chilled air between them. The tumbles of waves beneath and the happy lapping of her dog was all that disrupted the awkward silence.

"Did you and Hawke get in a fight, too?" she asked Varric in a hushed voice. "She seems even worse than when I left."

"A fight?" Varric shook his head, as if the words his friend spoke were incomprehensible. "No, no, nothing like that. Hawke's just been busy. You know how she is."

"You said you haven't seen her in a while. Has she not been leaving the house?"

"She has. I've been stopping by the estate a lot, to check up on her. But then Bohdan tells me she's sleeping or she's out."

"Out?"

"Odd jobs, I guess. Things she doesn't need any help with."

"And you don't find that strange?"

Varric paused; the sight of him without a quick and clever answer on his tongue made Isabela shudder. He looked out as Hawke's frame faded in the distance, but even the small image of her was sharp and stiff. "Of course I do," he said, defeated. "Hawke's always been kind of private, but this is different. I'm at a loss. I keep hoping she'll come into the Hanged Man with a long list of tasks, and things will be back to the way they used to be before she was Champion. How am I supposed to know what's wrong if she doesn't tell me? I mean, shit, did you see that cold shoulder? She doesn't even want us here."

"I'm sure the two of us could think of something. And we should figure it out soon, or she'll do something stupid and get herself hurt."

"Hurt? Captain, I know you two had a bit of a falling out, but come on, it's Hawke! She'd never do something reckless, she always has a plan."

"Varric, she's charging blind into a bandit's nest with her dog as her only backup."

"Gallant is pretty good backup, to be fair. One time he..." Isabela glared at him. "Okay, I get it, all right? Let's go catch up to her before she gets skewered."

The two rogues hustled up the sandy road until Hawke's small silhouette grew into her tall build. When they reached her, she was still. A gnarling, crunching sound overpowered the gentle tussles of the ocean. They came closer and saw Hawke's expression was blank, dry straight mouth and a wide glazed stare. They looked ahead and saw broken wagons; strips of wood in the road and wheels hung on rocks. Blood splattered the sand. Cold, limp bodies and discarded limbs were flopped over the carriages. A hunched figure was in the middle, with swollen purple veins and barbed spikes that crept from under a tattered robe to engorge the vaguely human form.

"It is not enough," it said in a gurgled voice as it turned, revealing a warped face with bubbling purple flesh, veins wrapped over one eye and half the mouth. "They could not even bring me one city. Not one. I'm so hungry, only a city of people will do. I'll take them. Take them all..."

"See, Captain?" said Varric, struggling to maintain a smirk and a light tone through his shivering. "You were worried over nothing. The horrible abomination took care of the bandits for us."

"Bastards," Hawke sneered, "bastards, all of them."

"Don't worry, Judy," said Varric as he readied his crossbow. "We've got you covered."

"I need more," the abomination mumbled, creeping towards Hawke and her companions with dark flames bursting along his curled fingertips. "Much more."

"So be it," Hawke declared, the glint of her unsheathed sword slicing through the dark of night. "There's nothing left to do but take it down. If every crook is so willing to turn into monsters just to satisfy their hunger, I have no problem cutting them all down."

Varric shot a few bolts in the abomination's shoulder, which slowed its steady creeping. Hawke charged, but Isabela was faster. The raider sidestepped past the ring of fire that quickly encircled the creature, keeping the Champion at bay. With a laugh, she circled back, hopped over fire, and dove in behind the creature. Two daggers flashed before they were driven deep into its bubbling back. As it flailed about trying to shake her off, Gallant the mabari galloped unnoticed and chomped its ankle. The abomination howled as it clawed at Isabela and chucked her across the shoreline, then kicked the dog with a violent jerk.

Isabela tumbled across the sand and stopped at Hawke's feet. "Ugh, tough bastard," she groaned as Hawke lifted her up by the hand. "Actually got stuck in there. Only managed to yank out one of my daggers. Other one's still in its back."

"Stay back," Hawke said.

"But I need that dagger back..."

Once Isabela was on her feet, she was already moving ahead. "Varric," Hawke called, "hold your fire. Get back."

"But Hawke..."

"I said get back."

The dwarf did as she asked and pedaled back. When he was at Isabela's side, he looked at her, face blank. The mabari went with them, whining, as if able to understand what his master wanted.

Snapping bolts off its body, the abomination glared at Hawke as she approached. "Perhaps you will sate my appetite. For a little while."

As she charged towards the creature, its flames rose up stronger, crackling with purple sparks. It surrounded the abomination and consumed its form, searing over sand, burning blades of grass, until it cleared an upward path in the evening sky with swirls of purple-hued fire.

Hawke stood at the end, raised her sword, and pressed the blade flat against her face. She closed her eyes and bluish white waves emanated from her body, streaming through the steel. An ember fell from the rising ring and dropped onto the foot of her armor, but it was quickly swallowed by the light. The waves of light surged and flooded from her body, washed over the abomination and his fiery barrier. The ring fizzled out, extinguished by the power radiating from the Champion.

The abomination moaned as the waves licked at its flesh and cleansed its power. The shoreline was cleared of demonic power. The monster fumbled in the sand, unable to cast another spell.

"But I want more!" the creature cried with a clumsy charge of thrashing limbs. "I'm so hungry!"

Hawke plunged her sword straight in, and the blade ran deep into the creature's chest. It hollered, ooze dripping from every twisted vein. The abomination reached for the blade and tried to pull it out of its gut, while Hawke was still pushing it in. Steel sliced its hands and feet shuffled in the sand as it tried to anchor itself and gather strength.

She countered its roars and resistance with a visceral grunt and a twist of her sword. The creature cried out and purple gunk spewed, but time had passed, and her lyrium-fused blockage began to fade. She saw dark embers poke out from underneath its skin, as if its whole body were one monstrous lantern and the fuse inside was being relit. Sparks flicked against the shine of the blade.

"You are not enough," the abomination gurgled.

A long trail of sweat ran down Hawke's cheek. Her breath was stolen by the cold night wind, ripping through her chest and hair. She grasped her sword handle and pulled again, but it was jammed deep within purple bile and rotted flesh. In a moment of cold clarity, she realized she was under-armored, her backup was confused, and she had exposed herself to her enemy.

"So hungry,"

"Hawke!" Isabela's voice came in from behind. "Hold on!"

With grit teeth, the Champion lifted one leg, pressed it against the abomination, and used the leverage to yank out her sword. The creature wheezed upon release. Budding fires seared along its arms, but Hawke swung the blade across its shoulders. The new flames went out, and the abomination thudded against the sandy ground.

"Are you all right?" Footsteps and voices were behind her, distant and muffled. A buzz veered inside Hawke's head, and she could not tell if Varric and Isabela were coming or going. The ocean waves receded, their crashes against the shore muted. The landscape around her-every cliff, every grain, the moonlit horizon-melted into night. A canvas once detailed in evening glow, now smeared with black. There was only her and the abomination, and its form began to shake, as if the ground would soon open up and swallow them.

"Hungry," it whimpered with a spittle of blood.

While the earth underneath her was still solid, Hawke leapt on top of the creature and swung her sword, again and again. She made broad sweeps against mangled, demon-touched flesh. Blood and gunk splattered with every stroke.

"Hey, Judy," Varric's voice echoed, jumpy and distant, "you, you can stop now."

"I told you there was something wrong," said Isabela. "but I didn't think... shit."

With the possession broken, the body began to crumble. Hawke kept swinging until there was nothing but ash, blown away by the wind.


	6. We Are the Same

Chapter Six: We Are the Same

Knight-Commander Meredith had her back towards the entrance of her office, armored hands locked tight against the small of it. When Hawke stepped into the room, she was met with her unwavering steel spine.

"Have a seat, Champion," she said, motionless. Her voice was stiff; laced with an anxiety-inducing chill, like winter air ready to lash and howl at any given moment. "Thank you for coming so promptly," she said as she heard the chair slide against the tile.

"Of course," said Hawke. "Forgive me, I would have come sooner, but..."

"Worry not," the templar answered in a snap, taking the breath from Hawke's mouth. "Despite rumors, you do not work for me. You are not obligated to answer whenever I call. But I knew you'd come, because you wish to serve Kirkwall."

"I do," Hawke replied, quick and with a tensed posture, back straight and hands clasped on her lap, as though she were under inspection from invisible eyes.

"And you know the best way to do that is to cooperate with me. We both wish to protect this city and we're the only ones capable of doing so. We have endured the worst it has thrown at us, and know it will take hard work to undo it. We want the same thing."

"Of course. This is a matter of safety, then?"

"Safety and pride." The Knight-Commander turned. Her bright blue eyes cut through the dreary dim of her office, banishing the sight of cluttered towers of paperwork. Her glacial gaze compelled Hawke to look only at her, and wipe clean all lingering distractions. "This matter is a shameful one. The people would be in a panic if word got out, and time is of the essence. Several of my templars left Kirkwall in pursuit of an apostate, and they have not returned."

"This is very serious," said Hawke, suppressing her body's urge to shrug. Serious it was, but not as critical as she feared. The Knight Commander was far too busy and too important to ask favors, especially involving the duty templars were supposed to do on their own. "If I may ask, how long does it usually take your templars to track down an apostate?" Again she fought temptation, as if she didn't already know. If the mage was careful, and with the right people protecting them, they could have anywhere between one and nineteen years.

"You think I am overreacting," Meredith scoffed, picking up on Hawke's uncertainty like bones buried in the earth. "That they have simply not returned from their task? No, it is far more dire than that."

Hawke winced in shame. "Of course. My apologies."

"Before I became Knight Commander," she continued, "a mage broke out of the Circle and was never caught. For years, I've sought to find her and correct the mistake of my predecessors. She appears every few years, attempting to 'free' other mages, which leads me to believe she never leaves the Free Marches. To toy with me, perhaps, to be so close yet still evade me."

The Knight Commander worked herself into a barely contained fit with every word. Her finely arched brows made dramatic slants, the wrinkles around her mouth and eyes twitched, the ice of her eyes turning to a boil.

"Knight Commander," Hawke said in the most soothing voice she could muster, "I'm certain your templars are all right. Surely your own soldiers will not be defeated so easily by a single mage."

The Champion's calm settled Meredith, though steam still huffed from her flared nostrils. "I am glad you think so highly of those in my command, and I do not yet fear for their lives. But this apostate is not to be trifled with. She has obviously lured my soldiers into unknown territory, past the borders of this city so I could not ask the Guard, even if I wanted their assistance. It's likely she's amassed followers over the years, and I have reason to believe she is a blood mage."

Hawke sighed; she was sure to keep her expression soft and sympathetic, but her insides were rattling. In recent years, the Knight Commander tended to assume every apostate dangling out of her iron grasp had to be dabbling in the forbidden arts. Not that it mattered; mages always found a way to kill and destroy in horrible ways. _They will always be trouble_, she remembered telling Gamlen when he lashed at her on the night of Leandra's death. When her uncle told her she might have saved her mother if she were faster or stronger, that was her answer. As if that made it better, as if it eased her pain, to shift the blame to another just once.

She balled her fists tight in her lap and nodded, in hopes Meredith would not see her discomfort. "What do you need me to do?"

"She was first seen on the outskirts. When pursued, she headed towards the Planasene Forest. I've heard nothing of my people since they ventured there, and I cannot afford to send in more after them. But if she's reached there, she will be even more difficult to track."

"So I am to be it, then? Rescue the templars, then assist them in capturing this apostate?"

"I don't want her captured, I want her dead. I want her existence wiped of the face of Thedas. If we are all fortunate, you will find my people and give them the edge they need to finish her before she can get lost in the forest, and you can all return safely. And you have... associates, do you not?" The last words fumbled in the Knight-Commander's mouth, thin lips in a frosted, fleshy knot. "You are a very capable fighter, I've seen it myself, but fighting outside city gates has dangers different from fighting within. I would not recommend going alone."

"Understood. Is there anything you can tell me about this mage that could be of assistance?"

"Her name is Una. She was an accomplished enchanter before her escape. Showed no contempt for the Circle before, but perhaps that was her intent, to lie in wait for the perfect moment. Perhaps too eager to learn, and to please, she had us all fooled. By now, she's middle-aged, though templars that have chased her before described her as a young woman, fitting the description of the mage who escaped years ago. More proof that she is a blood mage."

"You think she's using blood magic to keep herself young? Is that even possible?"

"I see no other explanation. Perhaps she can even extend her life with it. Perhaps there is no limit to her perversions. All the more reason she must be slain. You know the dangers of magic, unrestrained and unchecked for so long, as well as I do."

Before the Champion could respond, Meredith closed the distance between the two, fixing herself at the edge of her desk. Hawke had to look up to face her. It was a strenuous compulsion; the weight of the Knight-Commander's stare pushed her into her seat, and to look up at her eyes made her cringe, like staring into the sun through bitter winter haze. "And you're still so young. Life has been too cruel to you, as it was to me."

"I... am not that young, Knight Commander. I'll be twenty nine, come Cloureach."

"That's still plenty young. Do you know why I'm so fond of you, Hawke? Why I would come to you first with such a vital and personal matter, despite the fact that you're a young freelancer, not even born of the Free Marches?" She did not wait for an answer. "You're calm. Collected. Poised. When the qunari attacked and everyone else panicked, you remained in control. You assessed the situation and you did what needed to be done."

"I'm honored to receive such praise, Knight-Commander, but I'm no strategist. All I did was fight back. Anyone could have done what I did."

"And yet no one did. Choosing not to act, to give into fear, is an action of itself. You alone understood that. Even the Arishok was hot-blooded and hasty, assuming everyone would cower before him. That's why you were able to defeat him so easily."

Hawke's scars ached at the mention of the battle of their creation. The Knight Commander's words were ice and salt running along their deep and bloodied cracks. She grabbed the arms of her chair to constrain her pained shudders. Perhaps the fight looked like an easy win from onlookers, but she still carried its toll on the inside, where none would ever see. "Thank you, Knight-Commander. I just did what I had to. To protect Kirkwall."

"Exactly my point. Above all else, I need my people back. Kirkwall needs its templars now more than ever. I cannot even be certain Una is the cause or if she can be caught. If you can rescue the templars, you will be rewarded handsomely. But, Champion, if you should catch the apostate, or whatever is trapping my templars, I would be in your debt. I promise you, there is no greater reward in this city than my favor."

"...I understand."

With a faint semblance of a smile, the Knight Commander turned. "My assistant Elsa is down the hall," she said as she assumed her old position, facing away. "She can give you more information, should you require it."

Hawke got up and headed for the door. She had one foot in the archway before a sharp, "Oh and Champion," tugged at her heels. "Good luck. May the Maker turn his gaze on you, during these dark days."


	7. Lines of Communication

Chapter Seven: Lines of Communication

"No way," Varric exclaimed with a slap on the tavern table. "I don't believe it!"

"Afraid so," said Fenris with a smug smirk and cocky laugh. He slid a single card on the surface, so the dwarf could see the drawing on it. "See? Angel of Death. I win."

"No, I mean, I don't believe Isabela taught you to cheat at this bloody game and you're actually doing it."

"Hey now," Isabela came in from the sidelines with a playful shove to Varric's shoulder. "I did no such thing!"

The dwarf storyteller made a theatrical gasp. "Don't tell me the infamous Captain Isabela has gone straight!"

She giggled. "Didn't say that, either."

"Donnic taught me," said Fenris.

"You mean he told you how to 'play fair', which is no fun. I'd have beaten you ten times over by now, but you'd be having a much better time."

"But I am having a good time," he answered, his smirk straightening to a more sincere smile. "I am... pleased that you came back."

"Aww, you softie."

"Besides, I never said Donnic didn't teach me any tricks."

"Oh, really now? Added a few moves to his repertoire, has he? I'm sure Aveline is pleased."

The Guard Captain, sitting at the same table but with a measured distance, groaned. "I'm right here, you realize."

"And not playing these fun new games with your new husband?" said Isabela. "or did you two exhaust yourselves during the honeymoon?"

"That's none of your business, and since he's not here, I'll defend his honor on his behalf. He plays fair and he does not cheat, in whatever context or capacity you can think of."

"All right, all right, you don't need to protest so fervently. But I'm telling you, playing fair only works when others do the same. And they never do."

Aveline's ginger brow slanted. "Are we talking about Wicked Grace or something else?"

"Whatever you want it to be, big girl. Varric, deal me in. I'll teach the two of you how this game is really played."

The Guard Captain watched the raider scoot across the bench and shuffled the cards, as she was often found doing in this tavern before. She watched her clever hands flip through them, not a single misstep in her method. She watched Fenris and Varric smile and laugh at her like they had before she left. As if she never left at all. "So that's it, then? We're just going to act like everything is the same?"

The three players exchanged confused glances. "As opposed to what?" asked Varric.

"Isabela disappears without a word, is gone for three months, then she comes back, and you all act as though she never left. That doesn't strike you as troubling?"

Varric shrugged. "Pirates aren't really the sort to stay in one place, or on land, for long. It's kind of counterproductive."

"It's not as though we did not miss her," said Fenris, "but if she wanted to come back, she would. And she did. So here we all are."

"You left for your honeymoon, I left to... explore outside business ventures," said Isabela. "We both needed time out of Kirkwall and we both came back when we felt like it. Same difference."

"It is absolutely not the same. Everyone knew where I was going, for how long, and when I'd be back. You ran off without so much as a note. For all any of us knew, you were never coming back."

"I had been meaning to leave, and the time seemed right, so I went with it. Excuse me for not being tethered to the Keep like you are."

"If by 'tethered' you mean 'bound by responsibilities', then yes, and I'll take that as a compliment. It's not a bad thing to belong."

"Uh huh," Isabela's grin faded into a twitch of tense muscles, squirming through her tucked lips and crunched nose. "I stayed for your wedding, isn't that enough for you?"

"Am I supposed to believe this has nothing to do with that fight you and Hawke had?"

Isabela rolled her eyes and dealt her hand. "Believe it or not, Hawke does not influence my every decision. Now can I play a simple game with my friends, or did you outlaw fun while I was gone?"

Aveline groaned, a rebuttal forming on her thin lips, but Varric interrupted, "Hey, hey now, let her be, Aveline. She just got here. Bad enough her first night back was... rough."

"What is that supposed to mean?" asked the Guard Captain.

The swing of the tavern door stopped their talks and compelled their heads to turn. They saw Hawke enter before she saw them. She was in her black tunic and leather boots, hair in an unkempt bun. She lifted her gaze towards her companions and her bagged eyes popped. "Oh," she said, voice low and soft. "I was not expecting to see you all here. Am I interrupting?"

"Hawke!" Varric exclaimed, bouncing in his seat. "No, of course not. Come on, have a seat, let me buy you a drink."

"You're sweet to offer," she said as she came to their table and sat with the group. "Not today, though."

"Aww, it's never today. You've never let me buy you so much as a bowl of mystery stew."

"Ah, yes, well, the food here is not... without its charm, but I prefer what they serve at the Rose."

"You eat at the Blooming Rose?" said Aveline.

"They serve food at the Rose?" said Varric.

"Yes and yes," answered Hawke. "You know, a lot of the workers there specialize in conversation. Companionship is what you pay for, that can mean a lot of things. And you can learn a lot if you're willing to listen."

"So you pay them to chat you up? What kinds of things do you learn?"

"Of course I pay, they're on the clock. They have families, mouths to feed. I ask about things going on around Kirkwall, mostly. Sometimes that leads to new work for me, or some problem I can help with. They hear things I can't. Other times, just friendly talks. Did you know Jethan has a sister? She's the cutest and he loves her dearly..."

"Classic Judy," the storyteller chuckled.

"It's good to see you again, Hawke," said Fenris. His voice was small and unsure, big sea green eyes wading under the shade of his snowy bangs.

"And you as well, Fenris. Have you been eating enough? How is your training going? Is everything all right?"

"I am perfectly fine," he answered, forcing a chuckle. "You need not worry about me. It's been a while since last we talked, though... I assumed you had your reasons."

"I did, but I am glad to see you."

"As am I. I... like the way you're wearing your hair."

"Oh...?" Hawke tilted her head, unsure, and shifted one hand over the back of her head. She felt the pin that kept it all together; a bundle of thick, dark brown hair, with a thread or two of premature silver lost somewhere in the loop. "Oh, my hair. Yes, I suppose I changed it and didn't really notice. It was just... everywhere."

"It looks lovely."

"You're too kind, it's really nothing."

"I could cut it for you again," said Isabela with a wink. "Funny how a woman who lugs around a giant blade, cutting down creatures twice her size, is all thumbs with a pair of scissors."

Hawke laughed, a weak but earnest little pitter from her mouth. "I suppose my talents had to balance out somehow. Besides, Isabela, you work wonders. I was just growing it out, waiting for you to come back."

"I could do it right here and now if you really want. I'll need something to distract me while I beat Varric and Fenris out of every last coin they have. And hair would still be the cleanest thing to hit these floors."

"Oh, no, not today, I'm too busy."

The raider pouted. "You always say that."

"It's always true."

"But you're right here, with us. Even Aveline is taking a break!"

"I'm on patrol," Aveline inserted with stiff lip. "The merchants were complaining about noise, taking from their business."

"Well, as close to a break as Aveline gets, anyway."

The Guard Captain huffed and focused on the Champion. "I suspect you came here for a reason too, Hawke."

She nodded. "I did. I was expecting to only find Varric, but since you're all here, I'll let you know I have a job. A rather big one."

"This wouldn't be about those missing templars, would it?" said Varric, his voice reduced to a tactful murmur.

Hawke opened her mouth to gasp, but swallowed it before it surfaced and kept her voice low. "How could you know that already?"

"The Knight Commander doesn't have things under as tight a lid as she thinks, and the templars are still people who talk when they're scared. That's the gamble you make drinking with templars. Their stories are either hilarious or horrifying."

"I see. Well, then, I need not waste any more words or more of anyone's time."

"Hawke, come on, you're not..."

"I'm gathering supplies. I'll be heading west-towards the Planasene-two days from now, at sunup. If I'm fortunate, I'll find my target before she flees into the forest, but I can't count on that, so I want to be ready. I know it's short notice, but time is of the essence. I suspect we may be gone as long as a week, and it will be dangerous. If you decide to come, let me know as soon as possible, though I understand..."

"I will go with you," Fenris's answer was swift and stern.

"So we'll be roughing it, huh?" said Varric, his voice flat. "Joy of joys. Well, I can always wear my old boots for this one."

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" said Isabela. "I'll tag along, too. I already feel all nostalgic. Plus the coin. Coin is good."

"This matter has been deemed outside of Kirkwall Guard jurisdiction," said Aveline, "so... looks like I'll have another 'special investigation' to mark down."

"Everyone, please. There's no need to make a decision right now," Hawke insisted. "Give it some thought. As I said, it will be a long and arduous trip."

"So like an extended version of what you usually drag us along for?" said Isabela.

"I could stand to get out Kirkwall for a while," said Fenris. "And if you need help in this, I will gladly do so."

"I appreciate it, truly," said Hawke, "but I can't imagine any of you are eager to do jobs for the Knight Commander, rescuing her templars."

"That doesn't matter," said Aveline. "Templars or not, they're still men and women in danger. They don't deserve to get lost and die in some forest because their boss gives them stupid orders so they can earn pay."

"There's also what they're chasing," said Fenris grimly. "If a single mage is wandering around the Free Marches, ensnaring all who stumble upon them, they should be stopped."

"That and the Knight Commander will owe you big time," said Isabela. "Something this embarrassing for her would surely mean a big reward, no?"

"All valid points," said Hawke. "That settles it, I suppose."

"What about Anders and Merrill?" asked Varric. "Have you asked them yet?"

Hawke's tiny smile dissipated as she turned her gaze to the table, bangs feathered over her eyes, covering her embarrassment. "I have not. I don't think it's wise to bring along two apostates to rescue templars, on the hunt for another apostate. Like going to put out a fire, but bringing more tinder."

The dwarf shrugged. "Well, yeah, when you put it like that. But it's either templars out there or templars in here. They're well aware they can't escape them, they can only avoid them. At least out in the woods they can make themselves scarce when we find them. And when we do, those templars probably won't be in much condition to be picky."

"I suppose that's true," Hawke sighed.

"Besides, I think it would do them both some good to get out of Kirkwall for a while. Blondie has been stir-crazy, and Daisy is spending more and more time inside. I know you've never been the best of friends with either, Hawke, but think of it as a favor to me."

"You know I could never refuse you, Varric," she said, laughing in her defeat. "Very well. But do you think you could go ask Anders? I'm... too busy to go all the way into Darktown today."

"Sure thing. I can ask Merrill, too, if you're, ah, not ready to talk to her."

"No... no, it's fine. I've been meaning to clear the air with her, and if she's coming along, it should be sooner rather than later. I can go see her now, while I'm in he area, before I double-back to Hightown and ask Sebastian."

"Nah, leave him."

"Oh, Varric. Why don't you like him? He likes you."

"That's just it, he likes everyone! He's just so... so bloody nice all the time. And he's way too excited about helping, and it's always just honesty and integrity. Makes my stomach curl."

"You know, Varric, those are all qualities I like to think I have."

"What?" Varric guffawed, square jaw hanging from its hinges. "You can't really think... come on, you're nothing like him. Yeah, your nice and honest, but... it comes from a place, you know? You work so hard, do so much for others, and you never expect anything in return. Shit, you have every reason not to be kind, that's the clincher. With Choir Boy, it's so fake. He doesn't do anything with it."

Hawke shook her head. "He does need to learn that kindness is not enough. I wish we lived in a world where it was... and with his potential, his position... still, he is trying. And I wish you would try to treat him better. Could you do that, at least for this trip? Think of it as a favor to me."

"There she goes, turning the tables on me... and Maker knows I can't say no to you and those big brown eyes. Okay, Judy, I'll try-for you-but once we get back, all bets are off."

"Doesn't Sebastian know how to hunt and track and such?" said Isabela. "That's a thing nobles like to do, right? Go into a reserved area of the wilderness and make a game out of survival?"

"What are you getting at?"

"I'm just saying if he has some experience, he should come. My expertise is on the sea, not in forests, and I doubt you have much experience in such terrain, City Mouse."

"Oh, a crack at my height?" the storyteller chortled. "Real classy, Captain. You're better than that."

"I think it was an excellent observation," said Hawke. "Thank you, Isabela."

The raider smiled. "If nothing else, Hawke, you should at least tell him so he can see you off. He was so upset last time you left Kirkwall without a goodbye."

The Champion cocked her head. Eyes wandered for a moment, searching for an answer, but found nothing. "I'm sorry? I'm afraid I don't know what you mean. I've scarcely left Kirkwall the past few years."

"Oh come on, you know, that thing. It's half the reason we all met."

"The Deep Roads expedition? But Sebastian and I had just met at that time. Why would he care about saying goodbye?"

"Is this really new to you? Fenris, did we never tell her?"

"I never thought to," said Fenris. "I assumed he might have told Hawke as such, if he wanted it known."

"Oh. Guess he didn't. Oops. It's the silliest thing, really. Remember how you had us watch over Bethany while you were gone? He came poking around, wondering where you had gone."

"I think he initially assumed, with the Blight over, you used the reward money to go back to Ferelden," added Fenris. "He seemed sad that you were gone."

"He looked like a lost puppy. A very shiny puppy."

"I never knew this," said Hawke. "We had spoken... maybe twice?"

"He was obviously smitten with you," Isabela said matter-of-factly. "His gallant rescuer in shining armor, and all that rot. Run to him, Hawke! Go the Chantry now and ravish him in front of all the prudish sisters!"

Her bottom lip dropped, dark eyes emerged from their hiding shade of her bangs, wide with shock. "Wha, what?"

"Andraste's hairy calves!" Varric choked up his ale. "I'm trying to drink here!"

"Can you have one conversation without talk of ravishing someone?" grunted Aveline.

"Oh, lighten up, it was a joke."

"It wasn't funny."

"It was kind of funny," Fenris ducked his head to hide the growing smile, but he couldn't cover his snickering.

Varric and Aveline continued to groan while Fenris and Isabela laughed, but Hawke was silent. Her eyes remained wide, her whole body stiff. In an stiff jerking motion, she lifted herself off the bench and walked back the way she came.

"Oh, Hawke, no," said Isabela. "I didn't mean anything by it. I just wanted to... don't go. I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine," she answered. "I've just been here too long. I have to leave."

"But you just got here!" the storyteller said with outreached arm. "You don't have to leave right the second, do you? Come on, play a round with us, stay a while."

The others turned and faced towards the Champion with urging faces to match Varric's plea, but Hawke did not turn to see them. "Sorry, I really must go," she said as she walked out the door, never hearing the worried sighs behind her.


	8. A Day in the Fade

Chapter Eight: A Day in the Fade

"I cannot put you ahead of the fate of my people," Merrill said as she walked away from Hawke, and towards the demon. There was a skip in her breath, a shake in her voice, but she walked without pause, as if tugged by strings sewn into her joints.

The Fade reflected familiar halls, constructed by pieces of collective memory. The structure was sound in its likeness to their city-state, but the atmosphere was bloated with a wavering, wafting sensation, almost too thick to breathe. It was as if the Champion and her companions were walking through a living painting, loosely based off some random building in Kirkwall, by someone who watched them from afar. And with the artist still watching, somewhere.

The demon stood on hulking knuckles, sneering through a helm of horns and teeth. It towered over the mortals in his domain, a cold shadow looming.

Hawke watched Merrill leave her side, and she readied her sword. The demon's shadow consumed the elf's small frame. "Merrill, you said you could handle demons," she said sternly. "If you give in to it, I'll be forced to bring you down."

"It is too late," declared a booming voice. It came from Anders's mouth, but his skin and words were strewn with a spirit. Glowing veins and eyes matched the ethereal echo of his words. It was Justice who spoke; always present, but seldom heard, unearthed from Anders's flesh by the presence of his own realm. "She is already under the demon's control, and must be defeated."

"Hawke..." Varric said, voice meager and worried, as he tugged at Hawke's sleeve. "We're not really going to hurt Daisy, are we? Hawke?"

She didn't answer right away. The demon cackled, bulky limbs twitched, its shadow stretched until it overcast the courtyard they stood in. Merrill was staring at her three former allies with eyes like fogged glass, her staff in hand.

"Hawke?" Varric said again.

"Varric, I need you and... Justice... to keep the demon off me while I incapacitate Merrill."

"But Hawke!"

"I won't kill her, I have good control, trust in that. I'll only stop Merrill from casting spells. Now, can you do this for me?"

"For a few seconds, sure."

"That's all I need."

Hawke waited for the shuffle of her companions' feet before charging to the other side. Every movement the demon made had power surging through it, a whopping sound like cannonballs crashing. Hawke pushed away the sounds from her range, removed its massive presence from her mind, and focused on Merrill. As she ran towards her, she saw her tap her staff against the ground. A pattern of red light-a hex-flashed underneath Hawke's leading foot as her armor made contact with the ground. She felt the magic crawling under the cuffs of her boot, needling through her clothes and into her calf. The hex was hot against her skin, like a swarm of stinging insects burrowing into her blood. She groaned in pain, but kept running.

Merrill held up her staff horizontally with both hands, to block an incoming sword lunge that never came. Instead, Hawke placed the point of her sword parallel to the space between Merrill's eyes. By the sudden force of Hawke's shifting weight, a bluish white light spilled from her. It channeled through the blade, blinded Merrill and corked the magic flowing through her fingers. Merrill squinted and stumbled, as if bathing in sunlight after days of darkness.

Hawke uttered a solemn, "I'm sorry," before plunging the pommel of her sword into Merrill's tiny stomach. Seeing the mage, temporarily cut off from her own powers and coiling onto the ground in ache, she ran back to slice through the demon.

As Hawke stood in front of the Alienage house, she remembered the seldom-stirred anger she felt that day, watching Merrill turn from her in the Fade. She remembered the doubt and frustration that twisted in tandem inside of her. Was she too soft, letting a mage-a maleficar, at that-live in Kirkwall while she turned a blind eye? Or was she too hard, denouncing the actions of this poor woman, living on her own, away from her clan and all she knew, just trying to reclaim lost history? History that humans took, in accordance with their faith? A faith that Hawke herself tried to follow?

Being a law-abiding, Maker-fearing woman in Kirkwall was much more difficult than Judith Hawke had hoped.

She remembered, when the ordeal in the Fade was done and she was back in the waking world, she saw Merrill, unharmed. No blood or bruises, just her sleeping in Arianni's cot. Like it never happened.

"I couldn't really blame her," Hawke thought to herself. "It's not as though I ever put her before of my family. Nothing came before them. It was almost simpler, when I first came to Kirkwall. When I could not afford to do anything else.

She took a breath, straightened her back, and knocked on the door. "Merrill?" she said when there was no immediate answer. She waited, resisting the urge to let her heel turn and walk away, when the door creaked open. "Merrill, may I come in?" Still silence. She breathed in deeply, hoping the semblance of a plan would form as she collected air. When she exhaled, she gently pushed the door and made one step inside. "I'm coming in now, all right?" she projected into the dim wooden entrance as she made another step.

"It's fine," a little voice pepped from around the corner. It was flat and unenthused.

Hawke proceeded to make the full cross over from the Alienage to the interior. She locked her hands to her sides. She studied the trail of board patches and cracked lines on the floor before she turned the corner into the only other room, Merrill's bedroom. She lifted her gaze, though veered sharply once she caught sight of the base of the broken mirror. She focused on the Dalish mage, sitting on her bed with a mat of scattered old papers and arcane trinkets.

"Hello, Merrill," said Hawke. She perked up her voice and gave her a polite, twinkling wave of the hand. "Are you well? Have you been eating enough? I'm not interrupting anything, am I? I could..."

"What did you do with the Arulin'Holm?" said Merrill.

Hawke stumbled, the question throwing her off her mental tightrope walk. "I... beg pardon?"

"Before you pretend to be friendly like nothing's changed so you can ask whatever favor without guilt, answer me that one thing. Since you wouldn't let me have it, what did you end up doing with it?"

Hawke's forced smile and tweaked voice fell with a heavy sigh. "I gave it back to Merethari. I had no right to keep it. I never wanted it in the first place."

Merrill shrugged. "No, you just wanted to deny me of it. At least you understand it wasn't yours to keep."

The question of why Merrill bothered to ask such a thing-months after Hawke disrupted her plans to restore the Eluvian-crept into her mind, crawled into her throat. Under different circumstances, in a different state, she might have allowed the question to slip through. But Hawke, as nosy and stubborn as she often was, had enough foresight to know such a question would lead to an argument. One that she had no right engaging in, and one she was too tired and too busy to bother with. So she forced it down.

"I have a job," she said instead. "I don't think you'll like it, but Varric thought it might be good for you to get out of Kirkwall for a while. And I still want to include you, we all do. Plus the money is good."

"I don't know about that," she sighed, paying more attention to her notes than to the Champion. "I've been trying to find a way to fix the Eluvian without the Arulin'Holm, but no luck. I don't know how long it will take me... if there's even an answer to be had."

"Perhaps some time away would help, then. Clear your mind. And you still need money, you still need to eat."

Merrill shook her head, still looking every which way except to face Hawke. "Varric insisted on this, did he? Where are you all going?"

"To the outskirts. Templars have gone missing, and Knight Commander Meredith believes an apostate has captured them."

"Well, you were right," she snorted, "I don't like the sound of that. And let me guess, this apostate is also a blood mage."

"...Yes. The Knight Commander is convinced of this, anyway."

"Is it at least a human?"

"Yes."

Merrill began to twitch, bouncing on the balls of her feet, crinkling the corners of her notes. Finally, she stood from her bed, turned and looked straight into Hawke's glazed, dark eyes. "Does none of this bother you, Hawke? Going after mages like this? You've left me and Anders be, you protected your sister for years, so why this? I know that..." She flinched midway, tripping into the sensitive subject, seeing cold eyes staring back at her, but swallowed her anxiety and continued. "I know what happened with your mother, and I'm sorry... and I've apologized about what happened in the Fade, with Feynriel, but..."

"I only go after mages causing harm to the city," Hawke blurted out, squeezing fists at her sides. "As I go after anyone causing harm to the city. Otherwise, they're of no concern. Meredith doesn't hire me to intercept any random mage looking to escape. She doesn't know enough about the Underground, and I'm not a templar. Nor am I some lackey of hers, with no sense or will of my own. I know after what I did, I have no right to scorn or criticize, I am not so stupid as to think I am. But I'm not a templar. I am not like them."

"So... as long as me or Anders don't do anything to endanger the city, we're safe?"

"I can only promise that I will not harm you or turn you in directly. If the templars should ever find either of you, you'll only have yourselves to blame. I made that very clear to each of you from the start."

"And what about Feynriel? Was he a danger to the city?"

"He was a danger to himself, so yes."

"That's a convenient answer."

"He had no training and no one to teach him. I could only afford to take care of my own family. Would you have taken him under your wing, would Anders have? Can you tell me, with absolute certainty, that the Dalish would have taken him in, or that the templars wouldn't still come and hurt them if they found out he was among them?"

Merrill backed away. "Fine," she conceded, "I'll come along. I suppose I could use the fresh air and... money."

"Very well," Hawke said plainly as she headed for the door, quick as she came, as planned. "Come to the crossroads at sunup, day after tomorrow."

Door creaking open, Hawke had her hand on the railing. Amplified by silence, every board in the house squeaked under the pressure of her presence.

"Wait," Merrill peeped as daylight spilled inside, just as Hawke was in the middle of her first step out. "I have one thing to ask of you, before I come along... a few days ago, I had... gotten lost, I ended up in the Chantry garden. I overheard Sebastian talking to Fenris. He... told him it was their duty to alter the templars of apostates. Of me. Fenris said if that's how he felt, Sebastian should talk to you about it. But I don't know if..."

"He never mentioned this to me, no." Her nails scratched against the decayed wood until her fingers came together in a fist. The view of the Alienage opened at her feet, but she remained in the hall, her head tucked down. "I'm learning all sorts of things about Sebastian today."

The Dalish elf cocked her head in cautious uncertainty, toes curling, when Hawke's husky voice popped the bubble of awkward silence. "Let me ask you a question of my own". Her voice was cold and rigid; a steady rumble of words like thunder in the distance. "When you use these powers on people... do you feel them die?"

Merrill's gumdrop eyes sunk into her skull. "I... I'm sorry?"

"When I wield my blade, when people fight with swords and shields, daggers and spears, they don't just kill their opponent. They feel the life leaving the body in the handle of their weapons. The same cannot be said of bows and crossbows, throwing knives and bombs. To my understanding, that's also the case with... conventional magic. Is this true of blood magic, as well?"

The floorboards creaked under Merrill's feet as she twitched. She swallowed her fear, tried to match Hawke's proud stance with her lithe, slim-shouldered frame, and said, "Yes, I do. I always feel them when I use it. It flows when I control them, and it... goes cold when I kill them."

"And do you think that feeling helps you decide who deserves to die?"

"There... will always be mistakes," she replied, chewing her lip. "But I wouldn't use it if there was no need, and no danger."

"All right, then," she said, closing the door behind her.


	9. Only Fools

Chapter Nine: Only Fools

_Before All That Remains_

For Hawke, leaving the Fade was like falling in a dream, only to wake up the moment before impact. As the demon died, the living picture it had constructed was pulled apart. Every piece was discarded, every detail erased. Hawke's companions were plucked from the canvas, and she was alone, pulled down into darkness. The floor parted underneath her, and air whooshed over her head, whistling through her hair.

Her legs made an instinctive jerk as she dropped back into consciousness. The abyss disappeared, replaced by the inside of Arianni's house. Hawke flung herself upward, chest heaving, as she saw the details of the waking world settle before her. Merathari and Arianni were standing over her, Varric and Anders were getting up alongside her; the three of them had been lying on a mat of torn furs. Merrill was curled on the end of the bed across the hall, still sleeping.

"Your friend requires more rest," said Merathari, voice purposely distant and disapproving, as if she knew what had happened, or had just assumed the worst. The Keeper looked over her shoulder to eye Merrill one more time before letting herself out of the house.

When the business was done and all but Merrill had woken up, Hawke comforted Arianni as best she could. She assured the woman that her son, Feynriel, was far away, but finally safe. She thanked Hawke, and told her she would watch over Merrill until she got up. Hawke left with her remaining companions.

"Well, that was not what I was planning to do this morning," said Varric, stretching his stout arms. "Did I forget to mention dwarves don't normally go to the Fade?"

"That's why they can't be mages, I know," said Hawke. "Yet you were still able to enter with the rest of us. Are you all right?"

"I'm alive and my mind is still in my head, so that's good. What about you, Hawke? I know you have magic in your family, but..."

"This was my first time in the Fade, as well."

"Shit. If you don't mind my saying, you could've fooled me. How do you always manage to stay so calm?"

"I just think of what could happen if I lost control of the situation. It's easy to give into panic and fear, but nothing good can come of it. Especially true with magic." She turned to Anders, giving him an up and down to see his skin was clear of luminous cracks, his composure his own. "And you, Anders? Are you all right? What happened in there was..."

"Not something to be discussed out in the open," said Anders. He stepped further away from his two companions, the shades of the alienage's massive tree, the Vhenadahl, brushing against the sunken contours of his face. "I can only imagine what you must think of me now."

"It was nothing I didn't already know."

Anders sneered, shook his head, and walked away. Varric called out for him, but he was already long gone.

"I'm sorry, Varric," said Hawke. "I couldn't bear to ask Fenris such a thing, Sebastian outright refused, I couldn't find Isabela, and I thought... it would be best to have people with firsthand experience in the Fade."

"Don't beat yourself up about it. You couldn't have known what would happen in there, and I sure as shit couldn't have known. And hey, we're all not dead, that Feynriel kid is safe. Everything worked out for the best, if not a little awkwardly."

"I suppose you're right."

"Hey, come on, it's a job well done! Why don't we head on over to the Hanged Man for a drink to celebrate?"

Hawke laughed lightly. "You would have suggested that even if we did not succeed."

"Alcohol is versatile like that."

The two walked out of the tree's stretched shade, and out of the alienage, but when they reached the first set of stairs that linked the gates to the rest of Lowtown, they found Sebastian standing beside it. His hands were neatly folded together, trying to take up as little space as possible. His eyes bounced about the stacks of apartments and decorations hanging from the winding Vhenadahl branches. When his sight landed on Hawke, he smiled.

"You've finished," he cheered. He hopped to his feet and threw himself halfway across the distance, almost going in to embrace Hawke before retracting his arms, thinking better of it. "And you're all right, thank the Maker."

"Oh please, Hawke has handled worse," chided Varric.

"Sebastian, did you wait out here for us?" said Hawke.

"I thought, perhaps, if something went wrong, I could at least find help."

Hawke raised her brow and Sebastian shrugged, both knowing the truth, that there was nothing he could have done in such a position. "I'm sorry," he blurted out. "I hope you understand why I couldn't go with you, bit it felt wrong to simply leave."

"Sebastian," Hawke said with a smug cross of her arms and a smirk. "Do you not know how to get back to Hightown?"

"I, ah, that is," a flush ran across Sebastian's warm bronze face as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I did wish to stay and wait for you, truly I did. But it also occurred to me that I've never gone this far into Lowtown without you. The sisters would never even let me go this far to collect donations. And this part of Kirkwall is so big and unorganized. How do you manage?"

"I did live here for a while," she laughed. "Why don't I walk you home?"

"I would appreciate that."

"Varric, I'll have to take a rain check on those drinks. Do you want to come along?"

"I'll pass," said Varric, his grumbled disdain thinly veiled in the gruff of his voice. "Already had a weird enough day. Don't care to make it more awkward by babysitting a grown man."

"Don't mind Varric, he's just being fussy. He gets this way sometimes."

They all walked up the stairs leading out of the alienage, then Varric made a sharp turn towards the Hanged Man, grumbling. The other two continued straight through the bustling bazaar.

"Are you all right, Hawke?" said Sebastian as he hovered behind her. "You're not hurt, are you? I can't begin to imagine what the Fade is like."

"I'm fine. And neither could I, before today. It's not something to speak of out in public, though. For now, suffice it to say it was unsettling."

"I assumed as much. I'm glad you're safe."

"That's sweet. Glad you're not still mad."

"I was never mad," he whined. "Merely concerned."

"You haven't been in this group of mine for long, so it's to be expected. In time you'll get used to it."

"Are you saying this is a common occurrence for you?"

"Not exactly, but there's no prettying this up. Kirkwall is a dangerous place, and I've made a living doing dangerous things. Be aware of that."

"I understand, Hawke."

"Says the man in stainless shining armor."

He put his hands on his heart, feigning a wounded ego, but chuckling all the way. "You are so very cruel, Hawke."

"Not cruel, sensible. Come on, let's get you back to the Chantry."

She lead him through the stalls and stores. The air was bloated with the cries of merchants, along with the collective murmurs of every buyer and passersby. It stunk of their sweat. Sebastian kept bumping into people. "I'm sorry," he said as his shoulder slammed into someone else's. "Please excuse me," as it happened again.

"Hey, come on," said Hawke, pulling him by the hand. "Stay close to me."

The crowd parted as the two wormed out of the bazaar. She led him through another flight of ruddy stone steps, into an enclave of apartments.

"See, over there, on the right," said Hawke as she pointed to one of the tightly-packed buildings, square and gated with rusted bars. "That's where my family and I first lived when we came here from Ferelden."

Sebastian could barely contain the soured frown upon his face, though he tried to tuck it away by chewing on his lip. "Oh, Hawke, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," she said with a shove to his shoulder plate. "We were very fortunate, actually. Most refugees didn't have a place to live at all. My uncle took us in, and my sister and I worked. It's not much smaller than any home I've ever had in Ferelden. Although I miss the open spaces. Even Hightown is cramped for my tastes."

"You're not very fond of Kirkwall, are you?"

"I didn't say that. I just like open spaces. Surely there's something about Starkhaven you miss."

"That's true, there's plenty. It was bigger and more open, too, yet always full to bursting. Not wandering separately, but as though everyone was alive together. Except in the castle, it was more a hollow tomb, and I never liked that. I could easily run off and get lost in a crowd. Go dancing and drinking until the guards dragged me back in the wee hours of the morning."

"You were just trying to enjoy yourself," said Hawke, "Nothing wrong with that. Can't imagine being a prince is much fun."

"Being lonely doesn't justify my behavior. I was such a terror. Didn't have the decency to tell anyone where I was running off to. Then I'd gamble away my parents' money and get in fights with the children of the nobles."

"It sounds like you wanted to be found. See how long it would take for them to notice you were gone."

"That must've been part of it. Very astute of you, Hawke."

She shrugged. "I was the eldest child. I notice certain patterns. I tried to run away once or twice myself, but I ended up feeling guilty and turned around."

They walked through another mass of people, filing through the stone archways, under tattered canopies that filtered the sunlight. Sebastian shuddered in the shuffling, as if being overpowered by a wave of seawater about to knock him clean off his feet. Hawke grabbed him by the wrist as tugged him along as she maneuvered through the crowd.

"My apologies again," he gasped once they walked into a space where he could breathe his own air again.

"And again, they're not necessary. Just hang onto me, we're nearly there."

One last set of stairs connected Lowtown to Hightown, wider and more massive than the others that came before. They curved inward with Kirkwall's rising slope, like a spiraling thread of stone, woven into the city-state. Only a few dispersed groups walked up and down with Hawke and Sebastian, giving them space to breathe.

"If have a rather personal question, if I may," said Sebastian.

"You may, although I might not answer."

"I don't want to impose on a private matter, but I'm curious as to why you chose to remain 'Hawke'. You have your namesake back, the Amell Estate, a place in Hightown, everything you're entitled to as a member of that family. Why do you not refer to yourself as such? As Lady Amell?"

Hawke did not answer right away. She slowed her steps, lowered her head in contemplation. "A fair question. It's a curious thing, after all. To claim the birthright of one family, yet keep the name of another. But I've been Hawke all my life. I've never known another family. Even my mother dropped the name Amell is favor of my father's. It was her choice to do so."

"I'm not trying to condemn or criticize you, I'm only curious. I thought perhaps it meant you weren't happy in Hightown. Or not happy in Kirkwall at all. That maybe you still planned on going back to Ferelden one day."

"It's not that. My ties to the Amell family have helped me. Even just having family here helped me get this far, else I might have been shipped back to Ferelden. It's a privilege few else had. But I still worked hard to get this far. Still put my family through a lot. Often I would keep my full armor on, helmet too, and have Varric do all the talking, because people didn't want to hire Fereldens."

Sebastian winced. "I'm sorry, I had no idea it was that bad."

"I don't think I'll ever go back, but I don't want to lose myself, either. I want people in Lowtown and Darktown to know if a refugee can get this far, anyone can. And I'll help them, I'll help as many as I can. I'd rather ally myself with those still living, than prop myself up with dead relatives I'll never meet."

"I see you're not the sort to rest on your accomplishments," he said, pushing himself to catch up with her as they reached the top of the stairs, into Hightown. "I knew I was following you for a good reason."

"I didn't say it for flattery. I said it because it's my true intent."

"But that's just it. You're kind and you work hard, but you don't mix words or coddle. You're so... real."

Hawke flicked the loose strands of hair from the side of her forehead, distracting herself from the slight and unwelcomed fluster in her face. "Well, ah, thank you, Sebastian. It's been lovely getting to know you, as well."

They walked through the market square, passed the walls of estates, and into the polished block of gardens and roaming sisters, where the Chantry was nestled.

"Thank you again," he said as they reached the Chantry door. "I know I wasn't of much help to you today, but I've enjoyed this time, with you and the others."

"I enjoy having you around, as well," Hawke paused, uncertain, but her lips twisted into a little smirk. "Although if I didn't know better, I'd say maybe you were just pretending to not know your way out of Lowtown. Just playing innocent and lost, to spend time alone with me."

"Now why would I do that?" he tipped his head slightly as he laughed, lips slanted, the crinkles on the corners of his eyes deepening. "You're a busy woman. What would I have to gain by taking up your precious time?"

"You tell me," she countered. "What does a priest have to gain being led around town by a well known bachelor such as me, hmm?"

"I'm a brother of the faith, not a walking corpse," he laughed. "I still enjoy contact with other people. We've done nothing wrong."

"Are you sure Elthina would agree with that?"

"She's already upset with me for everything. I doubt this will be the final straw. If anything, I was giving her needed space today."

Hawke groaned. "I know I deserve it, but must you be such a bloody tease?"

"What? Why do you think you deserve it?"

"Because I've been hard on you, pushing you, making you go to all these places you're not comfortable with. Saying... foolish things."

He stepped closer to her, smiling. "If I may be so bold, I know we haven't known each other that long, but I consider you a very good friend. If we have moments to ourselves like this, just talking, I would be grateful. And I would take whatever chances we can get to do so."

"Then I... hope to continue being a good friend to you."

"I have no doubts."

"I should, um, let you get back to it, then," Hawke stuttered, a rare fumble in her normally low and steady voice. "But I'll be sure to let you know once something is up again. I-or I should say Kirkwall-could always use the extra help."

"And I am happy to offer assistance."

"And maybe, when the danger's passed, or even if there's no immediate crisis, you could tell me more about Starkhaven."

"I would like that. I shall see you soon, Hawke."

"See you, Sebastian."

She waited for the pounding thud of the massive doors shutting behind her, to turn around and walk back the way she came. She marched out of the Chantry area, shoulders stiff and face blank, like a toy soldier. She returned to her estate, pushed the door shut with her back, and kept herself in silence.

"Was he... was I... were we really just flirting?" She asked herself while she released the control she had, letting the blush bloomed in her face. "It ridiculous. He's a priest. Even if he were to listen to me and... no. No, no, princes marry princesses. He was just being nice. You haven't been with anyone since Lothering. You're so out of touch, you think small talk with a Chantry brother is flirting." Her shoulder blades rubbed against the door as she allowed her stance to fumble, and slipped onto the floor. She cupped her heated face in her hands as she fell down. "You're just a fool."

_After All That Remains_

She remembered that day, walking the same path from the alienage to the stairs to Hightown. Going into the Fade, fighting Merrill and the demon, walking Sebastian home. The memories echoed as she passed through every step and corner. Hawke sighed, reflecting on how her relationships with them have soured since then.

"Haven't spoken to Sebastian since that night," she thought to herself as she walked through Lowtown. The giant stairs came into view, marking her ever closer to her next destination. She stopped and shivered, the memory of the night she lost her mother like claws of ice brushing against her spine. Every time she walked up and down those steps played through before her, muddling together, like every imprint had a residual life of its own. Every casual walk, every hearty jog for training, the mad rush down with Gaspard to find the killer. All ghosts of her actions, playing together in front of her.

People navigated around her, soft shuffles on the dirt road. The gentle afternoon breezes died at her feet. Everything came to halt around her. "It wasn't his fault," she said to herself. "He was afraid. For himself, and for me. He was right to be. The only fault was Quentin's and mine, and I have to live with it."

With clenched fists to her side, she continued her walk, her movements stiff and rigid. "You can't just ignore him," she thought as she pressed on, marching towards the exit like a toy soldier. "You can't just push him out because of what happened."

"Serah? Excuse me, serah!" a little voiced peeped out of the usual grumbles and low-pitched chatter. Surprised, Hawke paused her vigilant march once more to seek out the source, but she found only the wandering heads of other adults.

"Serah?" the voice squeaked again. Hawke's ears perked and she looked downward, finding a small elven girl lost in a forest of long and busy legs. She waded through one empty corner, a small space to anchor her back when the crowds became too much. The girl had a large basket wrung around her wrist, overflowing with flowers. Hawke let out a small gasp once she got a good look at them. White petals with reddish orange bursting through the center, like an erupting fire searing through a patch of snow. The very sight of them brought flashes of Lothering to Hawke's mind. Fields flowing with grain, the clean and sharp scent of dew and pine in the thickest forest, the bundling warmth of huddled sleep in the old cabin, the clarion certainty of the Chantry bell. Everything wonderful and distant about her old home, spindling in the stem of every flower.

"Buy a flower, serah?" the elf girl cried to every passerby, waving one with her free hand. "For your family, for your sweetheart! Nothing says 'I love you' like flowers! Only two bits each!"

"Excuse me," said Hawke as she wormed her way through the crowd to get to the flower-girl. Her dark eyes widened, almost glowed, as she drew nearer, beholding the fluffy texture of the petals. "Are those Andraste's Graces?"

"I... oh, Champion!" the flower-girl blurted out through dropped jaw. The tips of her long ears went red with shock. "I can't believe it!"

"Hush now," Hawke said in a whisper, putting one finger to her lips. "No need to make a fuss over me, but yes, I am the Champion. I didn't think those flowers even grew in the Free Marches. I've never seen them, not since I left Ferelden."

"They're very rare, yes, but my mum grows them special. I want to help her so she can keep growing them, but they won't let me sell in the Market Square."

"Hmm, that's not right at all."

"Oh, but please, Champion, you must take one!" she said as she raised one up to her. "A free one, just for you. Mum will understand, after all you've done."

"Please don't treat me special. Although two coppers hardly seems fair to you. Surely it costs more to grow them."

The flower-girl's cheerful expression drooped. "I, I don't know, I think so. But mum says people in Lowtown don't have much money to spend on flowers, even nice ones, and we can't sell them in Hightown. But maybe if people see you with one, they'll want to buy!"

"Oh, that's good thinking. I was on my way to the Chantry. Flowers this nice should be out for all to see. Surely they'll get attention there."

"Will they let you put them there?"

"I have my ways. Besides, they're Andraste's Grace, after all, how could they not?"

"Wow, you're as clever and you are kind, just like mum said!"

"Oh. Why, thank you. I'll take a dozen. Here..." Hawke bent down close to the flower-girl. As she picked the dozen from her basket, Hawke slipped a sovereign in her pocket. "Be sure to keep to streets with Guards, and bring it to your mother as soon as you can."

"I...?" The flower-girl felt the inside of her pocket, lined a finger around the distinct dents that marked a gold piece. "Oh, Champion, I can't," she whimpered softly. "There's not even a silver's worth of flowers in my whole basket."

"Call it an investment. I'll see to it that your mother gets her own stall in Hightown. For now, remember what I said, all right?"

"Don't worry," she said with an assuring smile and nod. "I'm clever, too."

"I have no doubt."

Hawke continued out of Lowtown, up the stairs, and into Hightown, her eyes fixed on her bouquet the whole time. "These belong in the Chantry," she thought. "They're too nice just to keep in my house, where no one will see them." She spotted familiar flow of bushes along the floor of her trail, marking her ever closer to her destination. "And now this is incentive. You have to go. You must. Not like there was a choice, you're leaving day after tomorrow, after all. Like Isabela said, he has tracking skills, it's wise to at least ask. If he even wants to come. And besides, he..."

Her boot clacked on a familiar block, with a memorable scratch. She tore her gaze from the billowy comfort of her flowers and looked up at the Chantry tower. The old Tevinter statues that adorned the complex stood in brazen gold, defying the gentle winds and subtle glow of the dying afternoon. Each had weapons raised, as if to pierce the soft blue sky, or perhaps to make a heavy swipe at the ongoing tide of vines at their gilded feet. Wispy clouds parted against the might of each stacked column. Only the banners of the Andrastian sun, hung on the walls, marked any outward presence of the White Divine's influence. They were simple cloths, tacked onto an otherwise affronting and extravagant architecture. It was as if the entire complex were reaching out to challenge whatever great being resided in the sky.

Hawke shuddered and looked back down to her flowers for courage. Breathing in their crisp, woody smell, she remembered the low and rounded structure of the Chantry buildings back in Ferelden. Or at least the humble chapels in the villages she lived in throughout her life. At most, each would have a single statue of Andraste, as opposed to these massive monuments to dead magisters. And she knew everyone who dwelled within, be it joining her hand or leading it themselves. Unlike this place, where she only knew one.

"It's not like you don't want to see him again," she told herself as she faced the tower and continued onward.

She entered the Chantry and walked in through the candlelit vestibule, her steps echoed alone in the long hallway. Sisters and a few visitors wandered above her like ghosts, floating in the pews on the second floor. She looked around, cautious and careful not to study any one face for too long, lest she feel more awkward than she already did. She had not been to the Chantry for months, and, catching the glazed gazes of the clerics hovering about, it was almost as if they all knew. She felt a lump grow in her throat, but choked it down with a hard swallow. She looked through every corner and opened door she found along the way, urging herself to remain until she was sure he wasn't there.

"Hawke!" a voice cheered, so clear and happy it shook her bones, made heavy by the dreaded silence hanging over her. She turned to the side stair and found Sebastian, swiftly stepping down to meet her.

"Hello, Sebastian," she murmured. Her eyes strained with veins, resisting the urge to look away from him. "It's been a while."

Sebastian smiled wide and extended his arms. Whether it was to embrace her or shake her hand, Hawke wasn't sure. But he saw her weary expression, her walled stance, and recoiled. He kept up his smile. "It has," he said. "I haven't seen you since the... it doesn't matter. I know you have your reasons. Oh, those are lovely," he pointed to the flowers. "You must have another stop to make after this. I hope I'm not keeping you."

"No, actually, this is for... the Chantry. Andraste's Grace. They grow all over Ferelden. I saw them and I thought..."

She gave him a once over, and it struck her. He was in his Chantry garb; a black robe and sash, with a red tunic underneath, stitched with a golden sun insignia to match the banners outside. The cloth that marked him as a brother of the faith. She seldom ever saw him in it, even knowing he was a brother, long contemplating the renewal of his vows. Her better judgment knew he wore this often, he had to, just as the other clerics do. Yet seeing him clad in black, when she always knew him to wear white, was a difficult sight. Like there was a side of him that she was ignorant of, only just now coming to light. Like squinting under sunlight after days in darkness, even knowing the sun was always there.

She shook the shock from out of her head and started over. "I thought it would be nice to place them here, where everyone could see them."

"That's a wonderful idea," he said, accepting the bouquet on the Chantry's behalf. "I think there was some water and a vase upstairs. I could..."

"I came to see you," Hawke interrupted. "So maybe we could walk and talk?"

He grinned. "Walk and talk it is."

"I've accepted a job from the Knight Commander," she said as she followed him back up the stairs, towards a wing of shut doors. "Some of her people have gone missing."

"That's awful," said Sebastian. The news made him cringe, but he continued to rummage through a closet until he found a vase. "You're to find them, I trust?"

"Yes, they were last seen on the outskirts. Meredith believes they've been trapped by an apostate. I'm leaving in two days. I know it's short notice and you have duties here, but I thought, if nothing else, I could..."

"Absolutely."

"Pardon?"

"Yes, I want to come and help you," he said as he took the flowers and vase and brought them to another vacant room, where a basin of water sat on a nightstand. "That is what you wanted to ask me, is it not?"

"It is. Or at least tell you where we'd all be going, since everyone else seems to be going, as well. Are you certain this is all right? I'm not talking about a day's trip to the Wounded Coast. We may be gone for a while."

"I suppose I will have to discuss it with Elthina," he said while pouring water from the basin to the vase. "But I'm certain she'll understand. It's to assist Templars, after all. And besides she... we've been arguing. I can't seem to stay on her good side, I'm sure she'll be glad to not see me for a few days."

"Is it about your future here?"

A jilt in Sebastian's wrist caused the basin to slip, and a trickle of water missed the vase's opening and splat on the desk. "Mostly, yes," he sighed as he steadied his aim again and resumed filling the vase. "With the Viscount dead, I've been searching for outside help. The other cities are anxious. That cousin I mentioned, who's ruling Starkhaven? He rules still, but barely holding together. Even more incompetent than I feared. With Lady Harriman gone, and with the rest of the family dropping their support of him, and other noble families doing the same. Someone will make a claim, and soon."

"But not you?"

"I thought I was making progress with Viscount Dumar, he was my best and biggest chance for support, but... it doesn't matter now. I feel like I'm back where I started, only Elthina is even angrier at me."

"I'm so sorry to hear that, Sebastian, although it may help to stop looking at success as a straight line. Just because you made a mistake, or things aren't going the way you feel they should, that doesn't mean you're wrong or doomed to failure. If anything, it means you're on the right path. Things only get harder when you try to accomplish something."

"Sounds like you're speaking from experience."

"Yes, it took me a long time to unlearn that thinking, of a straight path. But please don't take this as me cajoling you into taking back your lands. I'm just trying to say..."

"Hawke, I could never think that of you. I know what you meant, and I will consider what you told me with great regard, as I always do."

"Good, I'm glad. Still, this does not seem like the time to go off on an unrelated job, if that's the case."

"No, it's all right. For all Meredith's... eccentricities, she's keeping things stable, well enough. If she's without her Templars, she'll look exposed, and that could invite danger. Even if I'm powerless to help Starkhaven right now, I can at least have some small part in protecting Kirkwall."

"That's a good way of looking at it, and she'll remember we did this for her. See? Taking an outside venture to further your goals. You're already applying what I've told you."

"And the time away from Kirkwall could clear the head, might do us all some good."

Hawke forced a light laugh. "Ah, sweet Sebastian, always looking on the bright side."

"And it will give us some time to talk."

She flinched. "I'm sorry? We're talking right now, are we not?"

"I hope it's all right if I put these here for now," Sebastian stood the flowers on a table and walked past Hawke, back down the way they came. "I'm glad you came by, Hawke. I have something I've been wanting to show you."

She followed him down the stairs and out a door in the back, past the pews and the dormitory wing of the clerics. They walked behind the Chantry building, where a small cobblestone road winded through a patch of bushes, and straight into a garden. The vines kept at bay in the front by the golden magister statues were taking over in the back. They circled around stone pillars, filled the cracks in the walls, and twisted along statuettes and benches. Trees with loose, hanging branches watched overhead, as if pilgrims of wood bowing heads of leaves in solemn contemplation. The only others around were birds, chirping from the treetops before catching the ongoing gusts. It felt to be miles away from the city.

"I've been living in Kirkwall for years," said Hawke as she looked around, everything shred of green new to her eyes. "I didn't even realize there was anything back here. It's lovely, thank you for showing me this."

"Oh, ah, you're welcome," he stuttered, "but the place itself isn't what I intended to show you."

Confused, Hawke continued to follow him to the center of the garden, where a walled ring of dark granite stood, indifferent to all the green around it. When she got close, she saw there were words all across, painstakingly carved along its smooth surface. Closer still, and she saw they were all names.

"This must be..."

"The memorial wall. I didn't realize you never saw it, but I..."

"I remember," she said, trailing her finger through the rows, following the order until she found the name she was looking for. "Here, 'Wesley Vallen'," she said, saying the name slowly with the tracing of her fingers against the indentations of each letter. "I remember you telling Aveline you did this, placed her first husband's name here. Even though you never met him."

"Yes, and I did the same for... for your loss."

Hawke didn't need to guess. She followed the letters until she found 'Leandra Hawke'. "I see."

"Based on what you told me, I thought it would be best to use the Hawke name. But if you think she would have preferred Amell, I'm sure I can..."

"No," she said, firmly and bluntly. "No, this is fine. She left Kirkwall as an Amell, but she came back as a Hawke. That's how it's going to stay."

"There's another name, next to hers."

Hawke raised a brow, curious at Sebastian's sudden reluctance. She widened her focus and looked around her mother's place on the wall, to find 'Carver Hawke' above it. When her sight and touch synched together, knowing it was truly the name of her brother on that wall, her whole body shivered, as if the summer sun was blotted out and the gentle breezes turned to whipping winds. Her nails clung onto the indentations of his name. Shoulders hunched and head hung low, her whole body curled inward. Her normally statuesque stature caving from the inside.

"I never told you about Carver. I never even told you I had a brother."

"You didn't. Fenris told me."

"I didn't tell Fenris either. I didn't tell anyone."

"No, but it's my understanding that your sister spoke of him often."

"That's true," Hawke sighed as she retracted her fingers from off the wall, reeling herself back in from the verge of tears. "They were twins, after all. I can only imagine what it was like for her. But Bethany has always been far better at sharing than I ever was. You two would've gotten along splendidly, I'm sure."

"I'm sure we would," he said, inching closer to her, nudging his head so that he could see past the veil of loose-hanging hair and look at her face. "But that doesn't mean I treasure our friendship any less, just because you're more private. That's your choice and I respect that, truly I do. But I want you to know I am here for you. I have training in helping with grief, I have some experience."

Hawke kept her walls up and sneered, "I'm aware of the basic functions of priesthood, thank you."

"I only mean that I can give you more help, should you require it."

"What are you implying?"

"Nothing, Hawke. It's only been a few months since you lost your mother, and with the Qunari attack, you becoming Champion... it can take a long time for people to recover from loss, and I worry you haven't been given much time to do so. I was waiting for you to come to the Chantry on your own accord, you used to come all the time, but..."

"I didn't come here for any religious purpose. Just the walk here made me uneasy. Reminded of just how alone I am, in this place. I only came to ask a friend a favor, if he's there."

Sebastian buttoned his mouth and sidestepped away, retreating slightly from Hawke's side until there was a safe, friendly space between them once again. He stared at the wall for a moment before another plan formed in his mind. "Did I ever tell you my brothers were twins?"

Her ears perked. "No, you only said you had two older brothers. The heir and the spare."

"Exactly so. They were identical."

"I've never heard of such a thing. I've never known or seen another pair of twins."

"Rare, but it does happen. For the children to look exactly the same, even more so. My parents made no illusions to what their roles would be, and my brothers hated it. I remember they avoided eye contact with each other. The 'younger' twin, Damian, was especially violent growing up... often took it out on me." Mustering bravery, he took his eyes from off the wall and back at her and smiled, slowly approaching again. "Remember when I said swordplay involved too much getting hit? Most of that was his influence. Not that I was good at it to begin with."

"That's awful, I'm so sorry."

"The eldest, Baldwin, was more melancholic. He'd sometimes lock himself in his room and play his lyre for hours. They weren't anything alike, but resigned to that fate all the same. My parents thought themselves blessed, they thought it a curse. I think towards the end they were more accepting, but..."

"Have you no fond memories of them at all?"

"Those were the fond memories," he chuckled. "Some days were better than others. I was allowed to hunt with them, for a time, until my father forbade me from coming, that is."

"Why did he do that?"

"I kept letting the animals out."

She cocked her head. "That would suggest you didn't want to go to these hunts."

"Oh, I did at first. But once I saw those animals in the cages, knowing they'd be let out the next morning just to be chased down, and I couldn't bare it any more. Foxes have especially sad, expressive eyes."

"I don't believe in hunting for sport, but what did you think these nobles were doing? Hunting is a common recreation, is it not?"

"You're right, and I did know, but... seeing them made it different. It was one of the few things my family did together, and I wanted to be part of that, but it seemed so needless and cruel. There was so much more we could have done in our positions."

"You are such a softie," said Hawke, in a weary wisp of a voice, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. Her broad shoulders unhinged, eyes rolled, her stance relaxed.

"See?" Sebastian cheered, a glint of certain victory in his eyes. "I learned something about your family, now you've learned something about mine. Now we're even."

"Even?" she snorted. "All you learned was that I have a younger brother, my sister's twin. You could almost write a book on what you've just told me."

"Then you will just have to tell me more," he smirked.

"You ass," she spit out with a shove to his shoulder. "All right, fine. One more thing for today. Let's see... those flowers I gave you, Andraste's Grace? They grew all over Lothering, the village we lived in before coming here. Carver used to pick them all the time. He had a crush on one of the lay sisters of the Chantry, you see. I forget her name... she was Orlesian, I think. She definitely had an accent, and she always had stories that he and Bethany loved. She reminds me of you, actually."

"Oh? Not the Orlesian part, I hope."

"Very funny. No, it's because she was among the most devoted and faithful there, even though she wasn't fully ordained. And she was kind and considerate. Lovely, too, she had the most gorgeous blue..."

Hawke caught herself at the end of the sentence, the very last word, like tripping over a pebble just before the finish line. She kept the word "eyes" on the tip of her tongue and swallowed it back down, not even checking to see if Sebastian caught what she was about to say. "Anyway, Carver heard that Andraste's Grace was the lay sister's favorite. So he'd scavenge through town and into the hills to find them. Then he'd yank them out of the earth whenever he spotted them. He'd bring them to her with chunks if dirt and worms still at the root."

"I hope the lay sister appreciated his enthusiasm, if nothing else."

"She did. Bethany and I would make fun of him for it, but the sister would peck him on the cheek, and he didn't care what any of us said."

"He sounds like a wonderful young man."

"He was. I'm sorry," she stepped away from the wall, distancing herself from the name and all the memories each letter gave. "I've taken up too much of your time, I really must be off."

"I don't mind, Hawke. Not terribly busy now, anyway. I thought we might..."

"No, I have much to do. Still need to get supplies for the trip. We'll all meet at the crossroads at sunup in two days, all right?"

"I'll be there, bright and early."

"Right. Well, then, I'm off. Thank you for... for the wall. For sharing this with me."

"Thank you for coming by, and for the flowers."

Hawke gave an agreeable smile and nod, and walked out of the ring. With the ends of the garden at her feet, she paused for a moment, then turned herself around. She sped up her pace, as if a wound up gear was spinning on her back. She walked where Sebastian stood, unmoved, and swooped in before he had the chance to react. She nudged her head downward, since she was a hair taller than him. The long tip of her nose flicked against his cheek just before her lips landed on him. A swift and feather light kiss on the curve of his cheekbone. "Thank you," she spit out before going back again. She u-turned around him as if momentum wouldn't allow her to stop. She did not look back at him, and she kept her breath locked in her gut until she was out of the garden, then out of the Chantry altogether.

Once she passed through the hall, out the building, and she heard the doors pound shut behind her, she let her back hit the cold surface and she slid downward, crumbling on her feet.

"Andraste help me," she whined to herself, a mumbling little prayer through her bumbling lips. "I'm such a fool."


End file.
